Out Of The Closet
by anxioussquirrel
Summary: How far are you willing to go to keep your peace and comfort? How much will it take to shake you out of it? And what happens when you're there?   A story where Blaine Anderson doesn't come out – even to himself – until long after high school.
1. That Day

**Author's notes: **_I don't even know, people. One minute I was having a writing block in the _Breathe_ threequel and the next I had a new doc open and words were flowing out of me at alarming speed. No idea what I was writing about, no plan, nothing – a stream of consciousness, word vomit. I DON'T WORK THIS WAY! So two hours later, when I was done with what is now the first chapter, I showed it to judearaya and she told me she'd break up with me if I don't keep writing. So I had no choice, right?_

_This is crazy. Intense. There's sex there – a LOT of sex, though it's not the core of the story – so if you don't like that, be warned. There's also friendship, romance, angst and a happy Klaine ending, because that's what I do. _

_The whole story is already written and my awesome friend and beta, judearaya, is editing the further chapters right now. I will update regularly, every other day._

_Have fun. I did._

* * *

><p><strong>1. THAT DAY<strong>

Blaine runs.

He's never felt such a shame before, such a nauseating disgust with himself, so much guilt. Everything's crumbling now, his whole life falling to pieces around him. The walls he raised so painstakingly over all those years, gone. Gone in a cloud of dust that is choking him now, filling his lungs as he runs, runs as fast and as far as he can. Further, further away from the evidence of his failure, of his utter defeat. Further from his parents who must _know_ already, and if they know, they're on their way to disown him this very minute. Even further from _her_.

From Jessica. His _wife_. The woman he left in a hotel bed just an hour ago, naked and humiliated, as he flew to the bathroom to throw up, unable to do the one thing he was supposed to do. That he was supposed to be doing _again and again_ for years to come. A small thing really, just penetration, just rhythmic movement, just some more pretending. Nobody would look into his head – he could imagine whatever he wanted as he had sex with her. Whoever he wanted. Even…

No, he can't. He can't even think about it, no! All these years, he's heard it as a mantra, ever since he let slip when he was 12 that no, girls didn't do anything for him, that he… They all said it, always the same: that he was sick, it was an illness, nobody could know. This was perverted. But they'd help him; he'd date girls, he'd learn to _like_ girls, he'd see.

So he did what he was told. He dated a lot. He was charming, so he never had trouble finding dates – girls loved him. He was considered a gentleman, because he didn't press for anything more than kissing. He never even seemed to notice veiled invitations to go further – always perfectly polite, perfectly dapper. Years went by.

Then somehow it was more than that, suddenly he was dating his dad's boss's daughter, and he didn't even know how it happened, really, but then he was down on one knee, a diamond ring burning his hand like a red-hot coal, his insides twisting, a voice in his head screaming for him to stop, to run while he still could. But how could he do that when everyone believed in him, everyone saw he grew out of his sick fantasies; _it had been a phase, it passed, see_, they said.

And then there was a wedding worthy of a prince, except the prince was a frog, unable to do the one last simple thing required to make the marriage lawful. He could act, could lie with his mouth, with his face and hands and smiles, but his body knew better. His stomach turned inside out as soon as his new wife took his hand and led it encouragingly between her legs. The gut-wrenching nausea surprised him. He'd told himself so many times that he was fine with it, that he could do it, that he'd like it once he tried; he almost believed it himself. Almost; just a tiny, quiet voice there kept telling him that he was deluding himself. And he was, which his body showed him; as soon as his finger touched Jessica's wet, hot slit, he'd gagged so hard he barely had time to sprint to the bathroom.

All the lies, all the delusions crumbled then and he couldn't believe he ever thought they were true. Suddenly it was all so easy, so clear. The reactions he never had with girls. The dreams. The revulsion for breasts (_no, no, of course not, I just like small boobs, yeah I know it's weird, but well_). God, he'd repressed it so far, he let them convince him, pushing it so deep down even though somewhere inside he knew, he'd _always_ known. But now it's out; he won't be able to hide anymore. Not after he ran out of there, quickly pulling his clothes back on, passing by his shocked wife who tried to stop him, tried to ask, to demand explanation. So he gave her the explanation. Humiliated, angry, lost, he shouted it out just before he shut the door and ran to his car to drive into the night. The words that cut through the air buzzing with tension, slapping Jessica in the face.

_I can't do this! I can't, I'm gay._

* * *

><p>That was an hour ago and he's been driving since then, blinded by despair, by fear and shock and, stunningly, relief. When he thinks about lifetime of pretending to be a perfect husband, perfect son and probably father, ever while imagining flat, muscled chests, tight asses and leaking cocks every time he'd have to fuck his wife; when he thinks of hundreds of nights like tonight, he feels sick again and has to stop by the roadside to throw up, even though there's nothing left in his stomach. Once he feels better, he drives on, finally starting to take in his surroundings; he has no idea where he is, where he's going, with his phone buzzing nonstop in his pocket. He could be anywhere now, except there's something familiar in the landscape he's speeding through. This crooked, peeling billboard, that cluster of trees there…<p>

He gasps. Yes, he knows where he's going, where his brain apparently believes he'll find asylum. It makes sense, a lot of sense actually, but is it a good idea? He snorts; which part of today was a good idea exactly? So maybe he'll make a fool of himself once more – it can't get any worse, really. And he doesn't have very many other options anyway. By now he's certainly considered persona non grata at his parents' estate, and his credit cards are bound to be frozen any minute.

There's no way back, so he just goes on.

* * *

><p>It's after 2 a.m. when Blaine pulls over in front of the apartment complex in Columbus, ringing the bell by the familiar door that he hasn't seen in years. He's shaking badly by the time the door opens, revealing a disheveled, shirtless young man in low-slung pajama pants – Blaine's roommate and friend since their first days in college. His eyes are wide as he takes in Blaine's face, his creased tux, the stupid white rose of his boutonniere. Blaine feels himself sway, no longer supported by his legs, but the man catches him swiftly, sure arm keeping him upright.<p>

"Whoa, Blaine, what are you doing here? What happened? Come on, let's get you to the couch."

Blaine has no strength to protest, to say anything, to move. His friend leads him to a cream couch in the middle of the small living room and settles him there gingerly. Blaine can only curl in on himself and stare blankly at the floor as the enormity of everything that happened today finally hits him. The man walks out from the room, only to return with a glass half-filled with amber liquid that he pushes into Blaine's shaking hands, steadying them.

"Drink this."

He does, not even thinking. The drink burns as it goes down and it's the first thing in this whole dream-like, _nightmare_-like day that feels real and palpable and easy. This, and the touch of the warm fingers on his trembling hand.

"Better?" this man, the absolutely gorgeous, hot man asks and _oh god_, where do these thoughts come from, why do they feel so _right_?

"Yeah." His voice is raspy, raw, like a stranger's. It is. He doesn't know himself anymore. But in a way, he can see himself better now than he ever has.

His host looks at Blaine imploringly.

"Okay. Can you tell me what happened or would you rather I didn't ask questions?"

"Kurt…" He doesn't know where to start. There's just _so much_.

"I mean, I don't have to know, just tell me if I should expect your parents trying to find you or maybe police breaking down my door…"

"No. Nobody knows where I went. Nobody knows your address."

"Okay, good." His friend just nods his head, apparently satisfied with just this bit of information. Blaine knows he won't pry; it's one of the qualities he's always loved about Kurt.

But suddenly Blaine has to tell. He has to share it with somebody who won't condemn him, who will understand. And Kurt, of all people, definitely will. Even though they haven't spoken for almost three years.

Blaine starts choking on long suppressed sobs even before he manages to speak, but he pushes through. He has to get it out, _out_ before it kills him.

"Kurt, I'm gay."

Kurt just raises one eyebrow in that trademark look of his and answers calmly, so, _so_ calmly, "I know."

"You _know_?"

Kurt shrugs. "Of course I know. I've known all along. I wondered what it would take for you to admit it to yourself. So what was it? Something dramatic, judging by your state."

"I got married."

Kurt whistles. "Oh, that's even more than I expected. And then what, you left your wife at the altar?"

"No. In our wedding bed." He feels sick again and quickly covers his mouth.

"Shit. Here, drink." Kurt picks up the bottle of whiskey he set by the couch earlier and fills the glass to the brim. Blaine drinks half of it in one gulp and is relieved to feel his stomach settle.

"Thanks."

"Okay, so you were more repressed than I ever thought. You really believed marrying a woman would heal you of your little _perversion_? Or was it your _parents_?"

At the mention of his family Blaine quickly drinks the rest of his whiskey.

"Please, don't." His voice sounds raw. "I know it was shitty what I did back then. I've been sorry ever since. Feel free to kick me out if you want to. I don't care, I have nothing left to lose."

Kurt shakes his head fondly, standing in front of Blaine.

"Blaine, maybe in your book friendship ends when someone checks out of your life, leaving a crappy note, but in mine it doesn't. You can stay as long as you want."

Blaine knows he should thank him, but he kind of can't move, can't speak. Or take his eyes off Kurt's bare chest. He feels light and warm, the alcohol drank too quickly on the empty stomach is singing in his veins and turning off his inhibitions. He sees his hand raise before he realizes doing it, and then it's lying on Kurt's firm, toned stomach, light as a butterfly. He hears a sharp intake of breath, feels Kurt's muscles tense, and desire coils low in his belly, _want_ like he never let himself feel before, not in reality, but very similar to what he often experienced in his dreams. Erotic dreams, _gay_ dreams. He laughs feebly.

"Oh god. All these years, I knew. I _knew_, but I chose to lie to myself. I let them convince me. What a dumb bastard I am." His hand keeps moving, sneaking up Kurt's smooth chest. God, these muscles, the small nipples, that masculine form, so gorgeous… How could he ever believed that a woman could do it for him?

Kurt catches his wandering hand in a tight grip, his breath fast and shallow.

"Blaine, fuck, you can't do that. You can't just appear in my life when I'm unprepared, defenseless, and touch me like this. You… you can't. Not after I did everything I could to forget you, to kill this… this thing. You have no idea what you're doing to me."

Except Blaine kind of has an idea, there's no way he can't see it now, not with the crotch of Kurt's thin pajama pants right in front of his face. The _tented_ crotch of his pajama pants. Blaine doesn't think, acts on instinct, on lust and want, raising the other hand to put it right there, right on Kurt's cock, thick and steel hard, and so, so hot. He hears his friend moan deep in his throat.

"_Blaine_… no, stop that or I won't be able to be reasonable or responsible or a good friend."

But Blaine doesn't listen. He doesn't _need_ reason or responsibility now, he doesn't really need a couch to sleep on. There's only one thing he needs and he knows it right now, in a flash of understanding that lights every cell of his body on fire. So easy, so obvious. So close it hurts.

"Kurt. I need you. I need you, _please_." He can't stop stroking the _cock _in front of his face, he can't get enough of this feeling that it's _this_, it's perfect, it's what he wanted all along.

Kurt gasps and whimpers, his eyes squeezed tight, his head tipping back.

"Blaine, okay, _stop_. You can sleep here. You can stay here. Just… don't make me do something you'll regret."

"I won't regret this. Kurt, _please_." Blaine can't believe how broken he sounds, begging now. He moves forward to the edge of the couch and presses his lips just under Kurt's bellybutton, his hand still stroking slowly.

Kurt moans, but forces words out, breathless and low. "What… what do you want from me?"

Blaine doesn't hesitate. He knows exactly what he wants, what he _needs_, and he whispers it against the smooth skin under his lips. "Fuck me. Please Kurt, take me, show me, make me understand it, make me whole at last. Fuck me, I've dreamed about it so many times, of being filled, of being taken. Please, Kurt."

Kurt grabs both his wrists now, pushes them away from his body and pulls Blaine up to face him, his eyes flashing with a mixture of anger and desire. Blaine feels dizzy, the loss of contact like a physical pain, and he whimpers before leaning in to press his whole body against Kurt's and laying his head on the naked shoulder.

"Blaine. You're drunk, you're brokenhearted, your whole life just shattered. Do you even know what you're asking for? You never even touched a man before. You never kissed a guy, probably never even fantasized about it consciously. You've never _been _touched. And you want me to take you, to fuck you?" Blaine starts kissing Kurt's neck now, open-mouthed, and his friends groans, his voice getting more breathy with every word. "You want me to spread you and work you open, push into you and make you hurt and shiver and fall apart? Is _that_ what you want from me? To take your first time just like that? Fuck, Blaine, I don't want to be this guy, but damn, I want you, I've wanted you since I met you, so please, _stop_, stop before I can't help myself and make you hate me tomorrow."

The last words are barely audible and Blaine answers heatedly, fiercely. "I won't hate you, Kurt, please, _please_… I need this. I need you to do this for me."

Kurt groans weakly. "Oh god, I'm going to regret this in the morning. But fine. _Fine_."

He releases Blaine's hands and they immediately return to Kurt's stomach, his sides, frantically pulling the pajama pants down and there it is, Kurt's cock, the most beautiful thing Blaine has ever seen. Thick and solid, and so much like his own but so different at the same time. Blaine touches the velvet skin, grabs the shaft, strokes experimentally and Kurt moans loudly. The sound goes right to Blaine's groin, and he's so hard it hurts, probably harder than he's ever been before, and he needs to _feel_, he needs Kurt to touch him, to get him off, to fill him, and he whines helplessly, not really sure what to do.

"Okay, okay, come here." Kurt pulls him into a rough kiss as his hands slip off the tux jacket, his fingers make short work of the shirt buttons, the pants, and soon Blaine's naked, aroused, shivering with need. Kurt pulls back to look at him and whispers, "You're so fucking hot, more than I ever imagined," and then his fingers close around his cock for the first time and Blaine cries out. This is so, _so_ good, better than his own hand, better than anything. Kurt's warm, firm hand strokes a couple of times and releases him and he almost sobs at the loss, but then he's led to a tiny bedroom, occupied solely by a huge bed and a small bedside table with a lit lamp.

And then Kurt pushes him on the bed and straddles his hips and that's it, he's in heaven, he can't think, because it's Kurt's cock sliding against his own and if he had any doubts that he's gay, they'd have no chance of surviving this. Kurt keeps rolling his hips, kissing his lips, his neck, then sucking on a nipple and the electricity flowing through Blaine is like liquid fire, the synapses in his brain lit like New York at night, all pleasure, pleasure like he's never known, like he's always dreamed of. But he wants more, he _needs_ more, he feels empty, hollow, like everything that he lost today needs to be replaced with something and he begs again.

"Kurt, _please_, I need you inside me, I need you to fill me, please."

"Are you sure?"

"_Yes_. Just… do it."

"Okay, turn around. I'll be gentle, but it can hurt anyway, and I'm sorry. You need to relax, okay? Just tell me if you want to stop at any point."

Blaine is on his stomach in a heartbeat, his heart pounding with anticipation, his cock throbbing. He can hear a drawer being opened, the click of a bottle cap and then there are soft lips on his shoulder blade and a slick finger teasing his entrance, pressing slightly and Blaine can't help himself, he bucks his hips and pushes against it and… _Yessss_, there it is, sliding in smoothly, filling him deep and he cries out because _this_. This is what he's needed even if he never let himself acknowledge it. He moves his hips frantically, in rhythm with Kurt's finger sliding in and out, in and out.

"God, you _really _want this," Kurt murmurs against the skin of his back, awed, and his tongue is mapping the line of Blaine's spine.

"More." His voice is like sandpaper, harsh, but he doesn't care.

And there it is, another finger sliding in, without teasing now, and there's a discomfort, but it doesn't matter because of the feeling of _full_ and the drag of fingers inside him as they slide, curling a little on their way out and…

"_Oh godddddddd!_" White hot pleasure is like lava in his bones and he can barely move, lost in a whirlwind of sensations, as Kurt fucks him with his fingers, faster, rougher, stretching him, and before Blaine knows it, there's more and he goes crazy, his hips working on their own, pushing against those fingers up his ass, wanting more, _needing_ more, pleading shamelessly until the fingers withdraw and he turns his head to see Kurt sliding a condom on himself.

"Get on your knees." The command is soft, gentle, more like a plea, and Blaine shivers with anticipation. He pushes his ass up, his head still on the pillow, and soon he feels Kurt grabbing his hips, feels the tip of his cock at his yearning entrance, and he whines, impatient.

"Blaine, just… relax, okay? Work with me here."

And then there's pressure and a burning pain that overwhelms him for a second – okay, that's a _lot_ more than fingers – but just as Blaine tenses instinctively, Kurt stills where he is and strokes his back soothingly.

"Shhh, relax, just relax, it'll pass, I promise."

Kurt's voice is quiet and tender and so familiar, and there are so many good things Blaine associates with it – trust and care, laughing and singing, shared dorm rooms and lazy afternoons in cafes – that he can't help but relax, and soon there's just a dull ache and Kurt is sliding further, careful and slow, _too_ damn slow. But then he's fully in and holy shit, Blaine thought that his dreams were amazing, but they were _nothing_ compared to this feeling. Kurt holds still, his harsh breath loud in the quiet bedroom, and Blaine feels himself melting into this, into Kurt, into himself, this new self, that man who seems to be emerging as all the facades fall. He feels calm, at peace, the frantic restlessness, the panic, all gone. There's only here and now, being filled and taken and accepted as he is, just as he is, _him_, Blaine Anderson, gay, music lover, closet romantic; no longer hiding, no longer ashamed. This is his coming out in front of himself, his full understanding. This is him.

Kurt begins to move now and the drag of his cock inside is unlike anything Blaine has ever felt, and he loves it, he absolutely loves it and gives in to it, gives his all, opens himself up completely for this man to see, to judge and take, and he's not afraid, for the first time that he remembers he's not afraid to open up, to be who he is. And it's liberating and amazing, and he would marvel about it, except he can't because he's overwhelmed by the onslaught of pleasure as he responds to every push with his own, the sound loud and the feeling intense. And then Kurt changes an angle, and there it is, that white-hot pleasure again. And again, and again, and it's too much, too much and yet not enough, until Kurt reaches to stroke him in rhythm with his hips and it barely takes two, three slides before Blaine's mind explodes, his vision blackening for a moment, his own voice echoing against walls, Kurt's cock pulsing inside him.

He's barely aware of what comes next – Kurt sliding out of him, leaving a slight ache in his wake, the bed moving, then something warm and soft cleaning him up so, so gently. He turns to his side when the rooms gets dark. There's a warm body there, a man's body, hard and flat in all the right places, and Blaine's head finds a place on Kurt's shoulder that feels like he belongs there. He can barely move, but he manages a raspy _Thank you_. And then he falls asleep, not sure if the soft kiss on his lips is still reality or already a dream.

* * *

><p><strong>In the next chapter: <strong>The morning after


	2. The Morning After

**2. THE MORNING AFTER**

Blaine wakes up slowly, groggy and confused at first, his head pounding. He stretches and tries to remember what day it is and what he has planned for today, but something bugs him, some thought trying to come through, an annoying buzzing in his brain. He tries to sit up and hisses. Ow. _Owowow_. What the hell did he do yesterday?

And then he remembers. What yesterday was, what happened, where he ended up. _Who _he ended up with. What he – what _they_ did. His bloods sings at the memory, his body thrums happily. _Kurt_.

But he's alone in the big bed now. He lies back again, more awake, trying to regroup, think rationally. Dragging his reluctant brain away from _I just had sex and it was the best thing in the world_, he forces himself to face facts and remember yesterday. The wedding, the reception, everything in white and crimson, the way to the hotel in a long white limousine and then… His stomach drops and he feels slightly nauseous. He remembers every detail and in the bright morning light it looks even worse. Now, when he's not so emotional and scared and shattered anymore, he's able to see the entirety of the damage that he can't repair.

Well, that's not exactly true. He _could_ try. He could go back there right now and beg for forgiveness, he could say that it was nerves, that he was confused, he panicked. He could move in with his wife, maybe get drunk to consummate their marriage, and live in peace and wealth ever after. Except he won't.

He's had it; had enough, he's not deluding himself anymore. He's gay, truly, 100% gay, anything else his family or anyone else tries to say about it is a lie. It never was just a phase, it's not an illness or a perversion. He _knows_, he's an educated, intelligent man and he knows that homosexuality is not a choice, and that his family is just conservative and intolerant and narrow-minded. This particular part he never had any doubts about. It never was a choice of his beliefs vs. theirs.

It was a choice – and not even a conscious one, because how conscious could it have been at 12, when he decided that his parents were right and pushed it all out of his mind – between believing that they know more about life, know _better_, andinsisting on what he thought _may_ be true. Between being considered a golden boy, a pride of the family, being supported and loved, having money for his needs and a generous trust fund waiting for him, or being alone, unaccepted and left on his own. It was a choice between what he knew all his life and the great unknown. For years, he never really felt the need to rebel; deep down, he may have known he was lying to himself, but it was just a feeble voice in his mind, easy to ignore. He chose believing his parents, chose trying to _think straight_,telling himself that it was the better way. What was out there anyway worth losing the comfort, family acceptance and financial safety over?

But now… now he knows. And the scale has tipped, and there's no doubt in his mind what he wants more, what he _needs_ more. He can clearly see the crossroads he's standing on, and the two ways he can go now. One is easy and leads straight towards the horizon over flatlands, a well kept but monotonous highway framed in artificial grass and plastic palm trees, with eternally blue skies and a huge lamp imitating the sun. The other… He can't say much about the other because he can only see parts of it. It goes up and down over hills and valleys, with forests and muddy puddles and waterfalls and rocks he can glimpse here and there. It's a dirt road, with potholes and rough patches, and crushed glass spilled precariously in many places. It would take effort to go that way, and it could be risky, dangerous even. But there's lush green grass everywhere, a sweet wind blowing among blossoming trees, and sun shines brightly, and birds sing overhead. There's the promise of thunderstorms too, of sleets and rains and mists, but also of rainbows. There's _life_ there. And Blaine _knows_ which way his heart chooses and if his brain has other ideas, screw it. He's been listening to it for ages and where has that gotten him?

The funny thing is that if he went to a motel last night or even slept in his car for a couple of hours, to clear his head and calm down, he might wake up now and still choose to return to his old life. To apologize and grovel on his knees and beg forgiveness. Because he's acknowledged he's gay, yes, but it was just a dry fact that didn't change that much. But now… now he _knows_.

He _knows_ what he feels when he allows himself to look at another man and think, see without filters, and feel. _Feel_. He knows the touch of a man's body and the crazy reactions it evokes in him. He knows desire and completion, being touched by other's hand and filled and brought to the edge. _By a man_. He knows gentle and rough, tender and firm. He knows the hard muscles and a man's scent, he knows how his body fits perfectly against Kurt's, the way it never seemed to fit against a woman's, whether in a hug or a dance.

He thinks of Kurt's words, that he didn't want to take Blaine's first time, didn't want to make him regret it and hate Kurt for it. But the truth is, Blaine was right when he asked for this last night, he was right saying he needed it. He did. Because now _gay_ is not a theory anymore, something that he can put away on a shelf in his head and cover with a thousand other theories and memories and things, so that it doesn't stick out. Kurt didn't take anything from him. He _gave_ him a gift that he really needed at exactly this point of his life. By giving Blaine this night, Kurt showed him what he was denying himself by following the road of his old life. Yes, he already calls it his old life. Because he's choosing to start a new one.

And it isn't just about sex. It isn't even _mainly_ about sex. It's about freedom and being true to himself, about openness and lack of fear, about emotions and prospects and futures. When he thought about his future up till yesterday, he was bored. Sometimes despaired. Loveless marriage, fake sex life, work at the family company that fit his education, but couldn't be further away from his true passions – it wasn't something he was looking forward to.

Now? Now he feels excitement just thinking about everything he can do, the paths he can choose, the things he can try and learn and love. Love, oh yes, he can have _love_. Real love, with amazing dates and fulfilling sex, hot kisses and tender touches. A relationship built on understanding and honesty, where someone will really know and accept him, down to the core, and love him for who he truly is. He can have a happy house and a partner he loves. Maybe one day, a husband. Maybe even children. He has nothing against children, it was just the idea of having them with that seemed wrong. How could he raise children, and raise them well, if he lived a lie?

Oh god, Jessica. He has to tell her. Oh, he's really screwed up. It's his life and he'll deal with the mess he caused in it, and his parents – well, they kind of asked for it, didn't they, forcing him into this denial. Now it's their choice – they can accept or reject him. But Jess? The only thing she did was fall in love, and yet she's the one most wronged here. Blaine feels like shit, thinking about it. He lied to her; not consciously, not overtly, but still. He never told her there was a moment in his life when he was sure he liked boys. He didn't mention the fact that sometimes his dreams vaguely suggested he might still prefer men. She didn't know all the facts when she agreed to marry him. What's worse, there isn't much he can do to fix it. Sure, she'll get an annulment easily enough, he'll sign anything she needs, but emotionally, it won't help. Blaine just hopes she'll meet someone better than him, who'll make her as happy as she deserves to be.

He needs to call his parents too. It seems weird, but he doesn't feel scared or guilty, or even sorry. Oh, he _is_ sorry he kept up the parody for so long. He should have woken up long ago. But now, he's made his decision, he couldn't be more certain, and he feels ready to face the consequences, to weather the storm that's inevitable and wait for his life to calm down before he starts it again, from scratch. He makes a mental list. Call Jess, call his parents, find an apartment, move his things, find a job… and get showered and dressed. Definitely that, first.

* * *

><p>All his clothes are probably still in Kurt's living room, where they left them last night. Blaine cringes at the thought of wearing the tux again, but he has no other choice. He looks around for a sheet or a towel to cover himself while ducking out of the bedroom to get his clothes, but finds none. He sighs, gets up – oh damn, his head is killing him – and as silent as he can, creeps out the half-open door. But it's useless. He catches Kurt's eyes as he's passing the kitchen; his friend is standing by the counter, looking at him with a smirk.<p>

"Don't be shy. I already saw everything last night." Blaine blushes deeply in spite of himself and Kurt chuckles. "I left you towels and toiletries in the bathroom. There's a new toothbrush and a razor too. Disposable, but I guess it's better than nothing."

"Thanks." He's deeply grateful for his friend's thoughtfulness.

"No problem. There's also a pair of jeans and a shirt. The pants may be a bit long, but it should be alright overall."

"Kurt, you don't have to…"

"Of course I don't have to, but I thought you'd feel better wearing something more comfortable than the tux, which you looked breathtaking in, by the way. Unless you plan on dressing formally for some reason. Do you regret your little wild moment already and want to go back and beg for forgiveness?"

Even through his pounding headache Blaine recognizes Kurt's tone. It's becoming sarcastic, biting, and it always means his friend's on the defensive, feels a need to protect himself. Blaine understands then – he's steeling himself for rejection, for a blow. Blaine left Kurt once already, years ago, just after graduation, when his parents demanded that he stopped spending his time with such an openly gay man. They threatened him with cutting their support and he wasn't ready to say no. Not then. So he sent Kurt a note, apologizing, explaining, and never met with him again. Until last night. And while years ago they were best friends, last night they crossed this barrier and went even further. So now Kurt must fear that he'd be rejected not only as a friend, but as a lover as well.

Blaine closes the distance between them in three quick steps, his nudity be damned, and takes Kurt's hands.

"I regret nothing. I'm grateful for what you gave me last night, Kurt. I needed it more than I can explain, I needed to understand, to see what it means, and you gave me that. Thank you. And no, I'm not going back. I'll need to call and take care of things, but I think I'll shower first."

He squeezes Kurt's hands and is relieved to see that his eyes soften, his smile comes back.

"Okay. How's your head after the whiskey?"

"It's been better."

"I'll get you coffee and aspirin when you're done."

* * *

><p>Refreshed and dressed in comfortable clothes, Blaine feels much better. When he goes out of the bathroom, there's a steaming cup of fresh coffee waiting for him by a plate of eggs, bacon and fresh bread. There's aspirin too. Kurt sits opposite, sipping from a cup of cappuccino. He's fully dressed, his hair perfect, his face fresh and flawless.<p>

"Is this all for me? Aren't you eating breakfast?"

Kurt quirks his eyebrow in amusement.

"I already did. It's noon."

Blaine startles.

"_Noon_? Why didn't you wake me sooner?"

Kurt shrugs.

"Are you in a hurry? I figured you could use some decent sleep, yesterday must have been quite the day. Besides, I may have been afraid of your reaction if I woke you up."

"Why?"

"Um, let me think. You wake up in a room you don't know, sore, with a hangover, and there's a guy you haven't seen in almost 3 years there. And then you realize that you're married, only you ran away from your wedding bed, admitted to yourself you're gay and just had sex for the first time in your life. With that guy. Yeah, I had no reason to worry whatsoever."

"Okay, you may have a point."

"How are you feeling, by the way? I mean, after last night." Kurt blushes pink.

"I'm great. A little sore."

"It will pass quickly."

"Is it always like that?"

"You mean… Does it always hurt?" Blaine nods, just once. "Not really, it gets easier with time. The first time is usually the worst."

"Then I have nothing to worry about, because mine was better than I have ever imagined. Well, I didn't imagine it, but. You know."

"I still feel guilty, like I stole something from you." Kurt doesn't look at him now, focused on his cup, playing with the milk foam on his coffee.

"Don't. I'm happy it was you. I trust you. I knew you wouldn't hurt me, so I could open up and just be. And it really helped me figure out what I want."

Kurt looks up now, his eyes more green than blue or grey today.

"So what do you want?"

"I want to finally be myself. Live the life _I_ want, the one _I _choose. And it means my sexuality, my friends, my job, my passions… I'll call my family and my… my wife in a moment. I'll apologize and try to make things right, as much as I can anyway. Then I'll go and look for an apartment. I have some money of my own, so I'll survive until I find a job. And then I'll start living my life. Learning to be. Maybe dating. Definitely meeting friends, old and new. I'll just… learn to be me. Learn what it means. Who I am."

"Good." Blaine can't help the feeling that there's a slightest hint of hurt in Kurt's voice, but when he tries to search for it in that stormy eyes, they are well guarded again.

* * *

><p>Breakfast, coffee, pills – it doesn't matter which of them helped because Blaine's feeling much better now. The new strength, confidence covering him like an invisible armor after last night, is still there as he takes the phone from the pocket of his jacket. 47 unanswered calls. 19 text messages. He thumbs through them. Just as he thought, his parents and Jess. He calls her first. She answers in a second, as if she was waiting for this call, staring at her phone. With a pang of guilt Blaine realizes that she probably was.<p>

"Blaine! Oh god, you're fine!"

"Jess. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. It was a mistake."

"Oh baby, it's okay, don't worry about it. Just come back, we won't even talk about it. Everyone has a right to panic, especially on their first time."

"No, Jess. Wait." He realizes, too late, that he said it wrong, gave her hope where there's none, where there _can_ be none. "Jess. This _marriage_ was a mistake. This whole _relationship_. I should never… I should have known. I'm gay, Jessica. No matter how much my family wants to change it, I'm _gay_. I'm so sorry. _So_ sorry."

His heart breaks as she sobs desperately, unable to speak. He really likes her, maybe even loves her in some platonic way. She's a kind girl, a pretty girl. She'll make somebody a happy man one day. Not him though. What he needs, she cannot give him.

Her sobs fade as a male voice sounds in the speaker, and Blaine moves the phone further away from his ear, waiting for his father to stop yelling. Of course, he should have known Jess would be there with his parents. And his father is telling him exactly what he'd been expecting – _shaming our family name, what will people say, this perversion, how could you, you're not our son anymore_. That last one actually hurts, even though he knew all along they'd feel like that. The hard truth is that they'd rather not have a son than have a gay one. They're _that _homophobic. But there's nothing else he can do, so he just waits for his father to run out of steam before he speaks.

"I'm sorry, father. But that's who I am and there's nothing I can do to change it. I. Am. Gay. I should have opened my eyes and realized it earlier; stopped lying to myself and everyone around. But it's too late to change anything now. I'll just come and take my things as soon as I find a place to live and then you can never see me again if it offends you so much."

"No."

"Excuse me?"

"Don't come here. Send movers for your things. Within a week, otherwise I'll give them all away. I don't want you to taint this house with your presence ever again, do you hear me?"

Blaine feels as if an invisible fist cut off his air supply, but he manages "Fine" before he hangs up and sinks into the softness of Kurt's couch. A moment later water stops flowing in the kitchen and Blaine hears quiet footsteps, and then there's a hand on his shoulder, light and hesitant.

"How did it go?"

"Just as I expected. It's done, though. I just need to breathe a moment and then I'll go look for a place to live."

"Okay. I have to go to work now, but let me know if I can help you in any way."

"I will. Thank you, Kurt. You're the best, you know?"

Kurt squeezes his shoulder and goes to get dressed without a word.

* * *

><p>The process of finding an apartment to rent turns out to be not so much difficult as tiring. Blaine spends the afternoon looking at half a dozen places before he finally chooses one that's small, reasonably priced, in a safe part of town and, incidentally, only a block away from Kurt's apartment. There's only one problem. He can't move in until Friday morning; it's Monday now. But when he calls to ask, Kurt says he doesn't mind him staying till then. So Blaine calls a moving company and sets them up for Friday, buys some clothes and toiletries for that couple of days, and in the evening falls on the couch that Kurt prepared for him and falls asleep immediately, exhausted.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>In the next chapter: <strong>Teach me


	3. Teach Me

**Author's notes: **_I'm anxious about this one. REALLY anxious. Let's just say… if you don't like smut, skip this chapter, okay?_

* * *

><p><strong>3. TEACH ME<strong>

Blaine wakes up in the middle of the night, breathless and sweaty. He might have been busy reorganizing his life all day, but apparently his subconscious has been hard at work too, preparing a very detailed, _very_ convincing erotic dream to tease him with at night. Actually, forget erotic; it was pure porn. And just for the record, Kurt as a porn star… breathtaking. Blaine recalls the images, his hand automatically wandering to his cock, hard and leaking, intent on just finishing what the dream started. But fuck, he doesn't have any tissues on hand, he sleeps just in his boxers, and he's pretty sure leaving come stains on someone else's bedding is pretty inappropriate. Unless that someone else is involved in leaving them, of course.

This train of thought turns out to be dangerous, because once his mind recalls the presence of someone else nearby, someone who happens to be an incredibly hot gay man, who maybe, just _maybe_ could be convinced to engage in some come-staining of the bedding, there's no turning back. Before Blaine can even make a conscious decision about it, he's up and on his way to the half-open door of the tiny bedroom.

Kurt stirs when Blaine whispers, "Kurt?"

"Mmm?"

"Kurt, are you asleep?"

The form under the duvet turns and a messy-haired head comes up.

"Not anymore. Did something happen?"

"Um, not really. I just have a problem."

Kurt sits up and eyes Blaine more consciously in the moonlight streaming in through the window, then snorts.

"Is _that_ your problem? Should I tell you where the tissues are? Or a way to the shower if you prefer?"

"No, I thought…"

"You did? Well, thinking happens sometimes, don't worry. It will pass. Now, can I go back to sleep? I can even put earplugs in to grant you privacy."

"Come on, Kurt, don't be like that."

Annoyance is clear in Kurt's voice when he answers.

"Like what, Blaine? You wake me up at, wait… 2:30 a.m., practically naked and looking the way you do; what do you want me to do? I can either try to erase this picture from my head and get back to sleep or forget about being a decent friend and jump you. And I rather like being friends with you."

"Actually, I kind of hoped you would… okay, not necessarily jump me per se, but… something."

"Blaine, we're kind of blurring our boundaries here."

"I don't mind. Can we just… just be? For a while? Without thinking or analyzing the consequences?"

"And then what?" Kurt snaps. "Forget about it and go back to being friends? Say goodbye and avoid each other awkwardly? Or maybe not even say goodbye, but never see each other again? Huh?"

"I don't know, Kurt. Right now, I know nothing about what will happen later. _Nothing_. But now? Now _this_ is what I want."

"You want, right." Kurt's voice sounds bitter, but the details of his face are hidden in the shadows, so Blaine can't see his expression. He hesitates.

"You don't?"

"Oh, I do. I want. It's just… more complicated than that in real life, Blaine."

Blaine feels ashamed. He knows it is. He just wanted to forget about everything else for a while. The more awake he is now, the worse the idea seems though.

"Okay. Sorry. I'll just go back to the couch."

There's a sigh from the bed.

"No, don't. I'm a weak, weak man. Come here. Let's take care of your… problem."

Blaine doesn't need to be told twice. He scrambles on the bed, fast, kneeling next to Kurt, who reaches to him at once, smoothing warm hands up his chest, teasing a nipple with a thumb, and Blaine gasps.

"Lie down." Kurt's voice is lower, rougher than usual.

He does, and momentarily there are lips and tongue and _oh my god teeth_ on his neck, kissing along his jaw, licking his throat with a hungry growl, sucking at a pulse point, biting, hard, where neck meets the shoulder, and if he thought he was aroused when he woke up, it is _nothing_ compared to now. He whimpers and gasps and arches on the bed, and when Kurt starts sucking on his nipple, biting lightly, while teasing the other one between his fingers, Blaine loses any and all inhibitions and shame he had left.

"Please Kurt, please, just touch me..."

"Begging already? It's a little early for that. You think it will be _enough_ if I touch you? Like _this_?"

There's something wrong with his friends voice, it's a bit like a stranger's, a bit distant, and Blaine might reflect on it if Kurt's fingers didn't choose this moment to slide, feather-light, over his still covered balls and up the length of his cock. His hips buck up, searching for the touch, but the hand is gone already. Kurt's voice comes back, closer, whispering hotly right in Blaine's ear, sending shivers down his spine.

"So eager. So beautiful. Tell me what you want, Blaine. Tell me exactly what you want me to do."

Then Kurt is sucking on Blaine's ear while his hand slides slowly up the inside of his thigh, and it's an effort to speak, but Blaine does, voice breathy and high.

"I want you to touch me. To jerk me off and make me come."

"Oh, I can do better than that. But first, _you_ touch _me_. This is a two-sided game, you know."

Blaine's eyes snap open, locking on Kurt's face hovering over his, and yes, he's eager, so _so_ eager to do this, to touch him again. He had just a moment to look, to feel and explore, last night, and he wants it so much now, he almost forgets about his own arousal. _Almost_.

Fervently, he reaches to pull down Kurt's pajama pants and is surprised to touch warm skin of his hips instead.

"I sleep naked. I just wore the pants yesterday to open the door. Is that a problem?"

Hell, of course it's not a problem, it's just that the thought of Kurt, glorious and naked, asleep, momentarily takes Blaine's breath away. But he hurries to cover his moment of weakness, moving his slightly trembling fingers from the other man's hip down, through soft hair, to the hot hardness of his cock. He slides his hand up, sweeping his thumb over the head, gathering the pre-come leaking generously, and then starts stroking, slow at first, watching Kurt's face, looking for the perfect rhythm. Kurt's still hovering over him, but soon his arms shake too much to support him, and he moves to straddle Blaine's thighs instead. A kaleidoscope of expressions plays on Kurt's face as Blaine strokes him, his muscles tremble and tense, his voice travels from gasps to moans, from keening to sighs and back again.

Blaine is awed and amazed. He doesn't know where to look; Kurt's angelic face, his gorgeous body, lean and toned, his cock in Blaine's own hand, thick and perfect, gleaming with a sheen of pre-come – he wants to take it all in, save the pictures in his head. The realization that _he's _done this to Kurt, that his own hands have turned this man into a trembling, moaning mess, goes right to Blaine's cock and he _needs_, needs so bad right now. Taking his left hand from where it was playing with Kurt's balls, he pulls the elastic of his boxers down and strokes himself quickly once, twice, gasping at the relief. Kurt watches it with wide eyes, mouth open, and then shudders and arches over him, shooting long pearly strands of come all over Blaine's stomach and chest with a high keening sound, broken roughly.

Blaine didn't expect to feel as proud and awed as he does, seeing Kurt fall apart under his fingers. It's like his friend has trusted him with his body, with a task to make him feel good, and he's succeeded, and it's _awesome_. He's never pleased anyone other than himself before and never really thought about what it means, but now, seeing how vulnerable Kurt is in his hands at this moment, he suddenly understands how crucial trust is in sex. Having sex means trusting the other person with your body, knowing that this can change you, hurt you, not just physically, but in other ways as well. Blaine has no problem whatsoever trusting Kurt, even after they haven't seen each other for three years, but it's hard to imagine going to a club or a party and having sex with a stranger – any form of sex, even just a handjob. This is so intimate, so precious, it should matter so much more than just a fleeting moment of pleasure.

Blaine is shaken out of his musings by a slide of fingertips down his chest. Kurt is looking at him with a small smile as he traces patterns all over his stomach and chest, his fingers slick with his own come. This probably shouldn't be hot, should it? But it is, so hot that Blaine suddenly has trouble breathing as he watches Kurt with wide eyes. He feels… _marked_. Chosen. Owned. And he has no idea why he loves it. A thought about going out like this, aware of Kurt's come sticking to his skin under the clothes, invisible to everyone else, but there, runs through his mind and makes him groan.

Kurt smirks and bends to lick one come-covered nipple, and Blaine can't drag his eyes away from his seductive, sultry look. Oh god, if this gets any hotter, he'll explode right then and there. But then it _does_ get hotter. _So_ much hotter as Kurt slides off him, removes his boxers, parts his legs and settles between them before finally, without teasing this time, leaning in and… Blaine almost arches off the bed with a loud moan when Kurt's tongue swirls hotly around the head of his cock. A second later all he can focus on is _hotwettightohmygoddfgtrsfgh_. Yes, he's very articulate, but who could blame him, because Kurt's fucking mouth, his tongue, his fingers, doing some magical stuff, it's all just…

It's just too much and Blaine loses himself in the sensations, feeling light, weightless, carried by waves of pleasure higher, faster, until he crashes, shatters into hundreds of droplets of pure bliss.

When he opens his eyes in the darkness, he meets Kurt's mischievous smile.

"Hi! So, I gather you haven't done this before?" Blaine can only stare at him, eyes heavy and brain not working. Kurt laughs. "Okay. I guess you won't be able to get to the couch, which means you're sleeping here again."

Blaine's eyes are already closing. With a monumental effort and the last remaining sliver of consciousness he manages to find Kurt's hand and squeeze it, and then he's out.

In the morning Blaine wakes up in an empty bed again, alone in the apartment. There's a note in the kitchen, saying that Kurt will be back late in the evening and out again early tomorrow, so he should feel at home and feed himself. Fortunately, there's an extensive DVD library by the TV, so he isn't left to his own thoughts.

* * *

><p>On Tuesday night, when Blaine wakes up again, he doesn't ask. He creeps into the bedroom and on the bed, and spends inappropriate amount of time watching his sleeping friend and feeling like a stalker. Kurt's just so… vulnerable when he sleeps. His face is soft and innocent, unguarded, like it rarely is otherwise. And he's beautiful; manly, yet with an angelic, elfin, ethereal air. The duvet is kicked low, revealing his smooth chest and toned stomach, down to the hipbones, and Blaine can't stop himself any longer.<p>

He leans over Kurt and lets his lips guide him. He kisses the slightly sweaty neck, tastes the saltiness with his tongue, inhales the smell, the heady mixture of cosmetics and _man_. He explores; collarbones, chest, the nipples pebbling under his caresses, his hands smoothing over satiny skin everywhere he can reach. Kurt's awake, he startled immediately after Blaine's first touch, but then he melted into it, not opening his eyes, not asking questions, just taking and reacting in a most beautiful, unrestricted way. He doesn't protest when Blaine uncovers him completely, doesn't say anything to the first testing licks and slides of Blaine's mouth. His moans, whimpers and gasps are the perfect feedback and soon Blaine feels more confident experimenting, learning, offering what he has.

And he loves it; the taste, the smell, the feel of _cock_ on his tongue, its thickness making his jaw ache – it's perfect. Well, _he_ is not perfect yet, he needs practice, because for now he's much too aware of all the teeth he has and he can only take in about half of Kurt's length, while he's pretty sure Kurt swallowed him whole last night. But he'll get there one day. He intends to keep on practicing. Now he just enjoys the new sensations and Kurt's reactions, more frantic and vocal by the minute. But when Kurt chokes out "Close, so close", Blaine's unprepared. He hasn't thought about this, what should he do? Let go? Swallow? He hesitates too long and streams of warm come land on his tongue, spilling out of his mouth, so he tastes and swallows some and it's okay, he has no problem with it, so he licks Kurt clean until impatient hands swat him away.

He lies down, still trying to lick the last smear of stickiness off his chin, when there's melodious laughter and a wet tongue helps him with that before diving down, down, and even further down. This time he's prepared for the onslaught of pleasure, or so he thinks until a slippery finger – when did Kurt manage to apply lube? – sneaks into his hole and goes right for the kill, quickly finding the proper spot and proceeding to drive him mad.

* * *

><p>They don't talk after that. They hardly speak at all the next day; Kurt is gone in the morning again, only to come back exhausted late that evening. And he doesn't even seem surprised when Blaine simply follows him to the bedroom and settles on the bed. He just calmly removes his bathrobe and lies down. Blaine waits a moment before following suit, a foot away.<p>

"Kurt? I have a question."

"Mm?" Kurt's eyes are already closed, his voice tired. Blaine blushes.

"If I liked being the one that… um…"

"… bottomed?" Kurt opens his eyes and turns to face Blaine, apparently interested in the conversation after all.

"Yeah, that time, does it mean that's what I should always do?" It feels awkward, talking about it like this, but Blaine really wants to know. Kurt doesn't find it weird, it seems, and answers calmly.

"Not necessarily. You should try and learn if you like both or if you prefer to chose just one side. Unless you don't even want to try, of course. There are no set rules here, really. You do what you feel comfortable doing, what feels good. And what you and your partner decide together, of course."

"Oh."

There's a minute of silence in the darkness before Kurt sighs.

"Okay, just say it."

Blaine feels himself blush. It's somehow so much more than before and suddenly he realizes what Kurt meant by his objections that first night. It's one thing to let someone in, to offer himself. It's something else entirely to ask for permission to stick your cock up _their_ ass. It seems like such an invasion. He starts to panic a little – what is he doing? He's never done this, never even read about it, he could screw it up, _hurt_ his friend. No, it's a bad idea.

Kurt seems to read his thoughts, like he used to do so often in college, and laughs.

"Come on, Blaine. If you want to try topping, just say it. I've bottomed before. I like it. I'll tell you what to do. You won't hurt me."

Blaine feels his jaw drop. "How do you know what I was thinking?"

Kurt touches his chest under the duvet. "Because that's what I thought before _my_ first time. So. Do you want to?"

"Do _you_?"

Kurt takes his hand and pulls him closer, until they're flush against each other, chest to chest, hips to hips, and yeah, there's his answer. Blaine reaches to tangle his fingers in Kurt's hair, pull him in into a kiss, but his friend withdraws, sliding down to suck at his neck instead, and then rolls them over so that Blaine's over him.

"Take the lube and condoms out of that drawer."

He does. Kurt guides him through the process of preparation then, his words more and more jumbled, especially from the moment Blaine finds his prostate, and finally he sits up and reaches for a condom, sliding it on Blaine's cock in one practiced motion.

"You'll have to learn this on your own later if you haven't yet. I want you in me, now."

Kurt pushes him onto his back and moves to straddle him, and a moment later Blaine has to bite his lip, trying not to embarrass himself. Because the tightness, the heat enveloping him so perfectly as Kurt lowers himself slowly on his cock makes him crazy. And he's grateful Kurt chose this position, because the only thing he has to worry about, apart from not coming, is making sure he's not reaching to pull him down, without worrying he could hurt his lover with an awkward movement or going too fast.

Once he's fully in, they stay like this for a while – no movement apart from their quick breaths, reveling in the feeling. And then Kurt starts to rock his hips, slow, then faster, until he rides Blaine in earnest. It doesn't take long, it can't, not with such a shocking tightness and the hotness of flushed, sweaty Kurt, with his hair mussed and his hips rolling and gyrating, vocalizing Blaine's name while pulsing around him and marking his chest with his come, again.

"So, did you like it?" There's sleep in Kurt's voice later, after they've cleaned themselves up and lain in the bed again.

"I did." There's something in Blaine's throat, something that makes it hard to speak, something nibbling at his brain too, but he's too tired to think. He just knows that there's sadness in the air like a mist.

"Good."

There's silence then. Once Kurt's asleep, Blaine turns his back, to lie on his other side. Suddenly he feels a movement and then a warm body pressesto him from behind, spooning and embracing. He settles back into the embrace, and it's like a quilt of _good _and_ safe _tucked around him. The nibbling feeling gets clearer, almost to the surface now, but Blaine falls asleep mid-thought before he can realize what it is.

* * *

><p><strong>In the next chapter:<strong> Back where we started


	4. Back Where We Started

**4. BACK WHERE WE STARTED**

Waking up in the morning, Blaine is surprised by clear grey-blue, blue-green eyes smiling at him from just a foot away. As far as he remembers, this is the first time waking up next to somebody else and it shakes him, the closeness unexpected and weird, yet absolutely wonderful.

"Hi. You're adorable when you sleep." Kurt's voice is soft this morning, with a little tenderness, a little intimacy laced in.

"How long have you been watching me?"

"Oh, about an hour. I always wake up early."

"That must have been boring."

"Not really. It's a nice picture."

A breath of sadness still hangs in the air and for some reason Blaine is hesitant to reach out and touch Kurt, even as his body yearns it.

"What happened that you stayed in bed?"

"I don't work today. And I wanted to talk to you."

"Oh? About what?" Blaine feels anxiety crawl his skin.

"About this, what we've been doing." Kurt looks calmly determined. "We… we won't be doing it anymore, Blaine. It's been amazing, but I think you know what you need to know now and you'll be safe and prepared once you start dating."

Maybe it shouldn't feel like a blow, but it does. Blaine tries to hide the disappointment, not let it bleed into his tone, but he's not very successful.

"Oh. So it was all this was for you? Some kind of… mentoring?"

"No, Blaine. It wasn't. But it was all I could allow it to be. That was what you needed from me, apart from friendship, wasn't it? You wanted to know, to learn what it's like, and it was safer if you learned this from me than from some random guy. You should use condoms for oral sex too, by the way. I was your first and I _know_ I am safe, so we didn't, but until you're sure, that's what you should do."

Kurt's face is calm, composed, and Blaine knows him well enough to realize it's a mask, but can't say what he's hiding under it. He just knows that he feels hurt, even though what Kurt says makes perfect sense. He nods silently, careful to look somewhere else, anywhere but at Kurt, afraid that his face may betray his feelings. But of course, they know each others' defense mechanisms by heart – even if it's been three years, they were best friends for the four before that. Kurt reaches to stroke his cheek.

"Hey, look at me." Blaine dares to do so, peeking up from under his eyelashes, his head lowered. "You didn't come to me looking for a relationship, did you?"

He has to shake his head, because that's true. He's nowhere near ready for a relationship now. He has to find himself in this new reality first.

"No. It's much too early for me to be thinking about relationships. It's all so _new_. But…"

"No buts. I know what you're thinking and we won't be doing some kind of friends with benefits thing. It never ends well. We had sex; you got to try things, we both had fun. But I respect you and myself way too much for this to turn into some kind of game. It would break us eventually and I really want us to still be friends, you know?"

Blaine nods. He wants it too. He needs friends now; he really doesn't have all that many and none are as important as this one. Kurt squeezes his shoulder.

"When you're ready, you'll start dating and have all the sex you can dream of. Just please, don't go to a gay club right away to find a quick hook-up. Buy yourself some sex toys instead, do research, explore on your own for a while. It's just… it's much better when you do it with someone you know and trust."

Hmm, sex toys and research? Blaine perks up a bit and files that away to think about later. Now there's something else about what Kurt said – or rather _how_ he said it – that struck him.

"It sounds like you know this from experience."

"I do."

"Can I ask what happened?"

Kurt shrugs, but there's regret in his eyes.

"Someone broke my heart a while ago. My first love, in fact. I tried casual sex as an antidote; I don't recommend it. It doesn't help, just makes you feel dirty and cheap. I've had a couple of relationships since then and even though none of them was anything serious, sexually they were way better than that."

Blaine reaches to take his friend's hand, hesitant.

"I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"That some bastard broke your heart. Can I find him and kick his ass?" For an instant, Kurt looks like he's on the verge of saying something, agreeing maybe? But then he shakes his head.

"No, but you're adorable. I would hug you now, but we're naked and I know where that would lead, so no. But thank you." Kurt's smile is a bit tremulous, like it still hurts to talk about it, and Blaine is _so_ angry at this unknown guy. Kurt breaks this train of thought though. "Okay, let's get up and eat some breakfast. I have a whole day to hang out with you and I want to finally talk properly."

* * *

><p>They take their time showering and getting dressed before they meet in the kitchen over bowls of muesli with plain yogurt. Blaine speaks first, curious.<p>

"So where do you work? You seem to have a funny schedule."

"I'm modeling."

Surprise sounds clearly in Blaine's voice.

"Modeling?"

Kurt shrugs.

"Yeah. Fashion photography mostly. Sometimes I get to go out on the runway too, and every now and then I pose for art students. The last two and a half day I had a huge photoshoot for a fashion catalogue, but I'm finally done, so now I'm free till Monday afternoon."

It sounds impressive, but not something Blaine would expect.

"Wow. But what about your musical theater dream?"

"Still mostly a dream. I do try, of course, and sometimes I get a small role, but with my voice and looks, I'm not exactly easy to cast for a male lead. So I take what I can get, but modeling is where I actually earn my living. I started two years ago, basically got recruited right off the street. It's not a bad job."

Blaine wouldn't notice the hint of bitterness behind Kurt's matter-of-fact statement if he didn't know him so well; it's well hidden. But he can imagine how difficult it must be for his friend, whose dreams for the future used to be all focused around acting and singing. Kurt had it all planned: major lead role before 25; New York stages by 30; Broadway star by 35. Modeling may be fine, but there's no way it's fulfilling for Kurt.

It seems things haven't gone his way at all since they parted ways – his career, his love life... Hopefully he was happy at least some of the time; Kurt deserves all the happiness in the world. Blaine hesitates, but he has to ask.

"This guy – the one that broke your heart – was he worth it?"

Kurt seems unable to answer for a moment, looking into space. When he speaks again, his voice is soft, quiet.

"Yes, he was. He was… everything I was – still am – looking for in a man. He might have broken me though. I feel like no one has been good enough ever since. I think I still love him."

"And there's no way you two might get back together?"

"I don't know. I don't think so."

"Tell me about him. He must have been a hell of a man to make you fall so hard for him."

Kurt sighs.

"He was. He is. But no, enough, I don't want to talk about him anymore. I'll get depressed and mope all day. Tell me what you've been up to instead."

Blaine shrugs.

"Nothing much. Working for my father's company, being the perfect son, dating girls my parents approved of, trying not to die of boredom."

"Sounds fun. So... you dated. And you never got close to a girl before your wedding night?" Kurt raises his eyebrow incredulously. Blaine understands his surprise; a 25-year-old man, not particularly ugly, with years of dating under his belt but with no sexual, or even erotic experience whatsoever, sounds a bit like a mythical creature even to his own ears. Or would, in any other circumstances.

"Intimately close? No. I danced, hugged, kissed – I had no problem with any of that, although they never did anything for me, never turned me on. Girls always said I was the perfect gentleman for not trying to push them any further."

Kurt smirks.

"Oh, I can imagine. And your wife? She never suspected anything?"

Blaine shrugs, blushing a little.

"Jessica thought I was shy and inexperienced."

"Still, how could she not have noticed something was wrong? I mean, if you got married, you had to have been together for a while, right?"

"A year and a half. But you have to understand, it was a very… old fashioned relationship. Our fathers work together and they decided to introduce us, secretly hoping for something more, I think. Jess was nice and pretty, and I think she fell in love with me. I liked her a lot, too, maybe even started to love her later, but more like a sister than anything else. Our dates were always quite formal – I took her out once or twice a week, to restaurants and theatres and concerts, or for walks. It was always in public, always very respectful. We kissed for the first time after three months. We hardly ever had time alone in private – we both lived with our parents after all. I don't have to tell you it suited me, do I?"

"You've lived with your parents all this time?" Kurt's eyes grow wide. He never actually met Blaine's parents, but he knew enough to dislike them passionately, and never hid this.

"Well, not exactly _ with _them. I had a guest house for myself since I graduated. It's a fair distance from the main building. After the wedding we were supposed to move in to the east wing of the house and have it for ourselves."

Kurt suddenly pales, hand covering his mouth.

"Blaine, you know that you've basically been cheating these past few nights, right? And I'm your partner in crime. I slept with a married man, oh my god."

Blaine feels uneasy. He'd never considered that. For him, the marriage didn't count, it was a mistake, something to be undone. But formally… Kurt's right, formally and lawfully he's a married man.

"But… Jessica will get an annulment without any problems."

"But it doesn't change the fact you're still _married _now. And what if she won't get it? You said she was in love with you. She may not _want_ to let you go."

"Oh…"

He hadn't thought about this possibility. He has no idea how annulment works, legally. Since it's really his fault, is Jess the only one who can petition for annulment? What if she doesn't? What if she wants them to stay married? Or wants a divorce and some sort of alimony? Shit, he's in _so_ much trouble… _And_ he's a cheater now, even if no one knows but Kurt, and he can be trusted not to disclose it.

Blaine can feel his pulse quicken, his breathing grow shallow. Kurt's hand laid on his shakes him out his spiraling panic.

"Hey, no, look at me. You'll be _fine_. In the worst case scenario it will take some time and effort, but it will be okay. We can look at some legal sites, do a little research. And you'll have to meet with Jessica soon I think, to talk about it. But don't worry yourself sick now, it won't help."

Blaine looks at Kurt, feeling pathetic.

"You're not mad? I basically made you accessory to cheating."

"Oh, right. It's not like you told me you just got married and I actually took your wedding tux off you, is it? Oh thank god, what would I do then?" Kurt shakes his head in mock horror and Blaine has no choice but snort. Kurt smiles and continues. "Come on, I may have been lust-blinded but I'm not stupid. I chose not to think about it until now. And what's done is done. I'll just have to do some more good deeds now to restore balance in the universe. And don't worry, I'll never tell anyone. I can even try to convince you none of it happened if you want to forget."

Blaine looks at him earnestly and shakes his head.

"I'd never want to forget something like this, Kurt. _Ever_."

Kurt blushes.

* * *

><p>They spend the rest of the day talking, never running out of topics to discuss, reminisce about, fill each other in on. Except for these information gaps, it feels as if they never had any break in their friendship, let alone such a long one, and Blaine is happy to have this back – this easy camaraderie, trust without the necessity of promises, support he can be sure of. The truth is, here, in Kurt's tiny apartment, he feels more at home than he's felt anywhere in a very long time.<p>

They sleep separately that night, even though Blaine lies awake for a long time, _aching_ to get up and go to Kurt, to touch his soft skin for the last time, to feel him inside just once more. But he doesn't and eventually he falls asleep, and if he dreams, he doesn't remember. They say their goodbye in the morning, promising to contact each other soon, and Blaine runs to move in to his new apartment.

* * *

><p>Once his apartment is empty and quiet again, which feels weird after days of company, Kurt goes to his laptop to look through the local news. He doesn't have to search long for what he wants to see. Under a big title announcing the happy day for two prominent local families, there it is: a big, colorful photo of a dreamy couple – a thin blond girl with beautiful blue eyes, embraced by a gorgeous, curly haired brunet with a dazzling smile.<p>

And just for a minute, Kurt lets himself imagine someone else in the girl's place.

And then he closes the laptop, goes to his bedroom and hides from the world.

* * *

><p><strong>In the next chapter: <strong>The colors of friendship


	5. The Colors Of Friendship

**Author's notes: **_Before you start to read this chapter, make sure you have a toothbrush on hand. I have a feeling you may need it. I may have overfluffed. Just a bit._

* * *

><p><strong>5. THE COLORS OF FRIENDSHIP<strong>

The move goes smoothly and at 4 p.m. Blaine is basically settled in his new apartment - his fridge and cupboards well stocked, his electronics connected, and he can finally relax. His hand finds the phone without thought and before he knows it, Kurt's voice is in his ear, sounding edgy and tired.

"Hi Blaine."

"Hi! Do you have any plans for tonight?"

"Yes. I'm going to keep looking at my ceiling. It's very interesting today."

Blaine frowns.

"Everything alright?"

"Sure. Just a weird mood."

"Oh. How bad is it? Because I hoped you could come."

"Sorry, not feeling like sex today. _Oh crap_. See? Weird mood. Did you mean come over, see your new place?"

Blaine suppresses an urge to joke; not today, not with this _mood_. And the topic is still sensitive anyway.

"Yeah, I thought you could come by and we could go out somewhere."

"I guess I _could_ pry my eyes from the ceiling and move. I'm getting bored anyway. Did you have anywhere particular in mind?"

"Not really, we can think about it when you're here."

Kurt's voice is heavy with reproach.

"Blaine! I need to know what to wear."

"Oh, right. Something casual."

"Okay. Give me your address, I'll be there around six."

* * *

><p>They end up going for dinner at a Mexican restaurant they used to frequent at least once a month in college. Neither of them has been there since they fell apart. The food is still as delicious – and hot – as they remembered and when they emerge two hours later they are full, taste buds burned off, laughing like two loons over some old memories. Going home through a park, they happen to see a concert on a small outside stage – some local band, and it's pretty good, so they stay. Drinks in a cozy bar nearby afterwards are a perfect end of the evening.<p>

"I can't believe your place is not even five minutes' walk from mine," Kurt giggles as they walk back near midnight. They are both tipsy, but not enough to call it drunk. "It's totally awesome!"

"Yeah, it is." Blaine is warm and happy, and he feels like grabbing Kurt's hand, but he remembers that he's not supposed to, even though right now he isn't sure why exactly, so he doesn't. Still, the sole presence of his friend, the wonderful evening they spent together, and the feeling that he's _finally_ in the right place make him buzz with excitement. He feels like singing and grins at the thought that when he goes home, he can play his guitar or keyboard all night if he wants to, or write a song, because this is _his _life now, a life where he can _choose _what to do, what to like and where to work. Unable to contain his joy, he starts skipping, and Kurt joins him, and by the time they reach Blaine's building, they're breathless and laughing hysterically. It takes them a while to calm down, because they keep infecting each other with more hilarity until they have no idea what they're laughing about and their muscles ache.

"Oh god, I missed you. I missed this." Kurt is wiping his eyes with a sleeve, still grinning.

"Me too. I don't remember when I last laughed that much." Blaine chuckles. He feels light, immune to all of life's troubles right now. It won't last, but even a few hours like this feels like heaven. "So, we repeat this tomorrow?"

Kurt shakes his head, his smile soft and easy now.

"No, it's Saturday. I've got plans."

"Like, a date?" Blaine asks before he can stop himself, his tongue too loose after the drinks. Not that it's any of his business.

"No, I have this… thing I do every Saturday morning. It's something very special to me. And after that I'm driving to Lima, to visit my family. I'll be back Sunday evening."

"Oh, okay." The happy feeling is slowly leaving Blaine, like air from a punctured balloon. He's used to being alone, but the last few days with Kurt had reminded him how much better life is with a friend.

"Unless…" Kurt hesitates. "Would you like to join me? You could help me with my morning thing and then go home with me. My family always liked you, they'd be glad to see you again."

Blaine raises his brows, trying not to look _too_ hopeful.

"Are you sure it would be okay?"

"Of course. I'd love it."

"Then I'd be happy to join you."

"Great. I'll pick you up at 8:30 then. You can bring your guitar if you still play. And an overnight bag, we'll be going to Lima right from there." Kurt smiles widely and turns to walk home. Blaine calls after him.

"Wait, Kurt wait! What's this _thing_? What do I need to know?"

His friend turns his head, smiling mischievously.

"You'll see. Remember, 8:30! Dress for comfort. And you'd better be awake and not hung-over, you'll need all your wits about you for this." Kurt chuckles and disappears around a corner.

* * *

><p>During the 20-minute drive the next morning, Kurt adamantly refuses to tell Blaine where they are going, insisting that it's a surprise, but the playful gleam in his eyes is unsettling. They park the car on a side street and he follows Kurt through a small green gate, along a narrow path framed by lush grass and lots of colorful flowers, to an unremarkable door, where they ring a bell and wait. Soon, a smiling woman about their age opens it.<p>

"Kurt, hi! Oooh, you brought help? Great, you'll need it, we already have 24 today."

"Hi Daisy. This is my friend Blaine." The girl smiles dazzlingly, shaking Blaine's guitar-free hand, and Kurt snorts. "Don't bother, baby, he's just as gay as I am, only he hides it better."

She sighs dramatically, the twinkle still in her eyes. "It's not fair, why are all you gorgeous boys either taken or gay? Are you two at least together?"

Kurt answers in monotone, as if it's a conversation he knows by heart, but there's amusement in his voice.

"No, we're not. And no, I don't want you to find me a date, thank you very much, Daisy."

She laughs. "You're no fun, Kurt. But I'll convince you one day, you'll see. Okay, go, the kids can't wait to see you. Lizzie's been practicing all week, she's going to knock your socks off, you'll see."

"What has she prepared?"

"Celine Dion."

"Oh my. Ambitious." Looking at Blaine, he adds. "She's got a voice to die for and true diva potential. You'd never believe that a year ago she didn't even know she could sing."

Daisy nods, then looks back to Kurt. "Oh, and Tommy's back."

"Oh no."

"Yeah. It didn't work out. So he may be a little morose today."

"We'll try to cheer him up then."

"Well, if anyone can, you do. I'll be going then, see you later." She waves her hand and goes up the stairs.

Blaine feels overwhelmed and lost, not knowing what's going on. He can guess there's singing involved and a big group of kids, and he considers going back to the car and waiting for Kurt there, because as an only child without extensive family, he never really had much contact with kids; he doesn't know how to talk to one, let alone 24. Before he can say anything though, they've reached the door with big purple notes on it and Kurt turns to him, chuckles and says "Don't panic," before he opens the door and all hell breaks loose.

A gang of young kids – the oldest no more than ten years old – surrounds them immediately, talking all at once, touching, pushing in, and Blaine feels trapped against the door. Kurt seems to be in his element though, laughing and chatting with the little ones, asking a question here, admiring something held in a small sticky hand there, generous with his attention, praise, and hugs. Blaine wonders how he – they? – will ever manage to achieve any fraction of order here, but then Kurt speaks up, his stage voice on.

"Okay munchkins, settle down now and let's start the fun."

Blaine watches, amazed, as the group disperses without a word of protest, each child taking a cushion from a colorful pile in the corner and sitting on the floor. There are still whispers and giggles, and some arguments over the "best" seats, but everyone seems to be on their best behavior. How did Kurt manage that?

Without the kids running around, Blaine can see the room clearly now – although frankly, there's not much to see. It seems to be just a big classroom, completely empty except for a small wooden stage against the far wall, a worn-out looking piano in a corner beside it and shelves with stacks of recorders, xylophones and a couple of tambourines and maracas. He finishes his quick observation as Kurt speaks again.

"Okay, little ones, I've brought you a guest. This is Mister Blaine. He's going to play with us today."

There's a chorus of "Hi, Mister Blaine". He waves his hand, hoping his nerves don't show. Kurt smiles at him encouragingly before turning back to the kids.

"Mister Blaine has never played our games before, so we'll have to teach him, but I'm sure he learns quickly. Now, why don't you all tell him who you are. I can see new faces here today, so I'll get to know those too."

It must be a well known routine, because there's no confusion or disorder. The kids stand up one by one to say their names and something about themselves. There's Peter who collects dinosaurs, bouncy Lizzie who loves to sing "on that big stage, Mister Blaine", there's Tommy, a delicate 6-year-old with sad eyes, and red-haired twins, Rebecca and Robin, who want to be firefighters, and so many others Blaine doesn't manage to remember all the names at once. The last one to get up is Romeo, a bulky Latino with a mischievous smile who likes to draw monsters and wants to know if Blaine is "Mister Kurt's boyfriend".

The worst nerves gone by now, Blaine smiles.

"No, but I'm Mister Kurt's friend."

Romeo nods his head with a serious expression before sitting back down.

"Good. It's very important to have friends."

"Yes it is." Blaine smiles at Kurt, who nods approvingly. Maybe it won't be so bad after all.

"Okay." Kurt claps his hands. "Now we'll warm up our voices, and then our bodies. Everyone choose their own syllable to sing, but it has to be different than last time. Mister Blaine, could you accompany us on the piano?"

Blaine sits at the piano; it's old, but in good working condition. He runs through some scales and simple warm-up exercises, a chorus of _la-la_'s, _mi-mi_'s, _be-be_'s and all different variations creating a cacophony in the room. Then Kurt asks the kids to get up and return the cushions to the pile in the corner, and guides them through some stretches and bounces.

"Okay, now it's time for our animal warm-up. Why don't we try to make it a little funnier today - but also a bit more tricky? I'll tell you what animals you are, and your job is to walk around imitating them and making the proper noises. But today, Mister Blaine will play us music that's going to tell us how fast the animals go. Sometimes they will run and sometimes they'll move slowly or even stop. You need to listen to the music to know what to do. Are you ready?"

They answer him with a chorus of enthusiastic _yes_'s, and Blaine nods his head, seeing Kurt's questioning look. Sure, he can do this. For the next five minutes he plays random melodies, changing tempo and style every so often, while Kurt calls out names of animals, always with accompanying adjectives, and the children have fun emulating them. By the end of the exercise Blaine lets go of the rest of his nervousness and is laughing uncontrollably watching a group of "very lazy old cats" rolling around on the carpeted floor. Kurt leads them through an exercise in acting out emotions then, Blaine providing the proper mood with background music, unasked.

He's surprised with how much fun he's having. The kids are noisy and energetic, but so enthusiastic and they obviously love the class. For the next hour and a half he watches with amazement as Kurt directs acting exercises and group singing glee-style, improvisations and talent show, with effortless control and lots of humor. Blaine doesn't just watch, of course. He provides accompaniment with his guitar and sings along with everybody, he takes part in the acting exercises when he's asked and participates in the standing ovations for the kids who choose to sing solo, Lizzie nailing _All By Myself_ and shy Simon making a brave – and not bad at all – attempt at a recent hit.

By the time they take the children outside to play with them in the sun for the last half hour, Blaine is already everyone's friend. And when Daisy comes back at 11 to take over, he finds himself sad to leave, with hugs and invitations to come again.

Once they're back in the car, Kurt turns to him, beaming.

"I knew you'd be perfect! They loved you."

"It was great! I loved it too. What is this place anyway?"

Kurt's eyes grow wide.

"You haven't guessed? It's a group home."

"A _group home_? As in…" Blaine feels his stomach drop.

"Yeah, all of these kids are either orphans or have been taken away from abusive or otherwise bad families."

"Oh god, really? All of them? But they seem so… cheerful!"

"They're kids. It's in their nature. But they have it harder than any child should have. They aren't always cheerful, believe me. I've seen many of them sad, broken and shutting the world out. These classes help them; they learn to express themselves, to deal with their feelings. That's why I love doing it."

Kurt starts the car and they back out of the side street, turning towards the expressway.

"How long have you been teaching here?"

"Almost three years. I started a week after your lovely note." Kurt smirks, but Blaine knows there's no real anger in there, just teasing. Still, he feels the guilt again. "I was down and itching for something to fill the empty space you left in my life, and then one day I heard a conversation in a café about this place and how the children could really use something to channel their emotions, like arts maybe, but there wasn't enough money. I acted on impulse, which doesn't happen all that often, as you know, and asked the two girls if I could join them. One of them was Daisy. Things went from there. Besides the classes, I come by every now and then when I have a free day, to help with homework or just spend time with the kids. I've seen many of them come and go – most of them are waiting on adoption, you know. That's what Daisy was talking about today – Tommy was placed two weeks ago, but it didn't work out and he had to come back. It's always tough." Kurt shakes his head and laughs bashfully. "You need to stop me. I could talk about this for hours if you don't."

Blaine looks at him softly.

"I think it's wonderful, what you do for them. Would you mind if I joined you again next week maybe?"

Kurt's eyes are focused on the road, but Blaine can see smile in his profile.

"I'd love that. You can join me whenever you want, even permanently. It's even more fun this way."

And Blaine doesn't say anything, but he already knows he will. He left a tiny piece of his heart back there, with those children.

* * *

><p>The visit with Kurt's family reminds Blaine why he always envied his friend. They welcome him warmly, like they used to, and treat him like he belongs there. It's heartwarming and relaxing, and all kinds of nice. Kurt must have told them at least a bit of his recent story, because nobody asks him any uncomfortable questions. They talk, play board games and watch movies, there's a lot of noise and laughter since Finn is also there with his fiancée Michelle. The weather is perfect, so they end up barbecuing in the back yard. When they drive back to Columbus Sunday evening, Blaine feels relaxed and accepted, and he can't help but to reflect on how big a turn his life has taken since he left that hotel room just a week ago. He knows he wouldn't change it for the world now.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>In the next chapter: <strong>Passion


	6. Passion

**6. PASSION**

Blaine wakes up, stretching leisurely and smiling to himself. It's Monday and he doesn't have to go to the office. He'd hated that job. Well, okay, maybe _hated_ is too strong a word, but he had been dying of boredom there. It was dull and uninspiring, at least for him – the creative, artsy type. He knows that he needs something completely different. He wants music and creativity, change and challenges, and a certain degree of freedom. It's time to start looking for a new job.

He stays in bed a while longer, just because he can, his fingers wandering over sleep-warm skin until they accidentally drag over a nipple, making him gasp. Ooooh, right. He remembers now; maybe he could... His mind set on experimenting, he teases both nipples and immediately they harden, even more sensitive. With a squeeze the wave of pleasure goes right to his quickly hardening cock. One hand is smoothing down his stomach to his balls, the other stroking and scratching lightly over his chest, his neck, exploring and searching for erogenous zones. He never bothered doing this before, had always jerked off quickly when he really felt the need, but after those nights with Kurt he's realized there's so much more to this.

Still not giving in to the urge to touch his cock, which is steel-hard now, Blaine does what he denied himself for years: starts thinking about men – imagining a toned male body, a perfectly shaped ass, a mouth stretched over his cock. Full, red lips with familiar blue-grey eyes over them, looking up through lowered eyelashes. Kurt's eyes.

It feels wrong, so wrong after the last two innocent, perfect days. Kurt is his friend after all and Blaine really shouldn't jerk off to a mental image of him. But whoever he tries to think of, Kurt's image keeps returning, raising the temperature of Blaine's blood every time, more than anything else. _He's the only man I've seen naked_, he reasons._ The only man I've been with, it's natural to see him when I imagine sex, I have no other point of reference._

As if taking this as a permission, his brain recalls the feeling of Kurt's mouth on his neck, his come smeared over Blaine's chest and, oh god, Kurt's cock in his ass. The reaction is so intense he groans and his hand moves to his now aching cock almost involuntarily. He slides his fingers over the head, gathering the pre-cum, and strokes himself slowly, moaning at the overwhelming sensations, memories playing in front of his closed eyes. It could be Kurt's hand pumping him, faster and faster, it could be his finger sneaking toward Blaine's ass, teasing and causing him to whimper, applying light pressure to the tight entrance. Except Kurt's finger wouldn't be so dry and uncooperative.

He needs lube, but he has none, so this will have to wait. Settling on teasing, stroking and massaging his perineum and entrance, Blaine jerks himself off at a steady pace with the other hand, shivering, moaning, heat coiling tightly in his belly, closer and closer. And then he recalls Kurt's bedroom voice, lower and rough, and the sounds he had made under Blaine's hands, his mouth, and suddenly Blaine is coming with a cry, waves of pleasure washing over him, much more intense than any other time he's gone solo before. The thought that what he cried as he climaxed sounded very much like his friend's name is quickly pushed deep, deep where he won't have to think about it.

_So_, he thinks standing in the shower under streams of hot water moments later, _there's much more to masturbation than I thought_. And he hadn't even start _deeper_ exploration. Now that could be fun_. Lube. Definitely buy lube today_.

* * *

><p>With his shower and breakfast out of the way, Blaine sits down at the table with a notebook to plan out his job search. He knows he wants to work with music and he needs a place where he would have certain amount of freedom, a job that would challenge him and make use of his innate creativity. He considers his options, making notes.<p>

An hour later he's looking through job offers on the internet and in newspapers, and in the afternoon he goes into the city with his guitar and a file full of copies of his resume under his arm. He's relatively optimistic about the whole thing; it will probably take more than a day or two, but he is confident he _will_ find the perfect job. He has to. Everything has changed so fast, so much of it for the better, this is another thing he has to brave and do. He just needs some courage and persistence.

* * *

><p>Two weeks later Blaine's persistence is on its last legs and he begins to doubt himself. He's been scouting the offers and touring the city every weekday and nothing. <em>Nothing<em>. Nobody's even called. Everywhere he goes he hears the same thing. They can't take him, because he has no formal education in music, or no experience, or there's nothing there that fits his skills. But if he maybe wanted to do something more along the lines of business or management… well, he's got excellent education and experience there. Except he doesn't want to have anything more to do with those. He's sick of it and he just wants to do what he loves, and be paid for it, even if it's a fraction of what he could earn otherwise.

It's Monday again, two weeks later – another failed day, and Blaine feels himself sliding into depression. Kurt's constant absences due to his temporarily heavy workload aren't helping either, he can't even whine to him over wine or drinks. They've only met during weekends the past two weeks – Blaine has been keeping his promise and joining Kurt every time he's gone to the group house; he loves it more every week. At least there's a chance they'll get to spend more time together now – Kurt is finishing the last photo session today and will be free for the rest of the week.

Walking home through a part of town he hasn't visited since college, Blaine chances upon a place he used to love, but then completely forgot about: Red Robbie's Record Shop. It used to be the best record shop he'd ever been in, and he'd been to many, traveling with his parents. The owner, middle-aged, smiling man with long red hair and a beard, seemed to have – or be able to get – any record you could dream of, and he knew _everything_ about music. Blaine found many hidden diamonds in this vast, dusty shop. There was always music on, usually fairly unknown bands and singers, many of whom Blaine has since seen succeeding and becoming stars. Red Robbie had known his trade. On impulse, Blaine decides to enter the shop; he's in a terrible mood, some good music could definitely make it at least a bit better. Besides, he's curious to see if anything has changed in the three years since he was here last.

The inside looks just as he remembers it, the same man sitting by the counter, smiling – if possible – even more than he used to. He doesn't look a day older than when Blaine saw him last. Blaine leaves his guitar in a corner and starts looking through high shelves for records that may interest him. The shop is unusually empty today – he remembers days when it was hard to squeeze between the shelves without pressing against someone, with long lines to the register. But that was usually in the evening, when students milled around, and not in the middle of a sunny spring afternoon like today. Red Robbie joins Blaine after a moment.

"Looking for anything in particular?"

"No, just something to brighten the mood."

Robbie is apparently in a talkative mood this afternoon.

"Bad day?"

"You can say that. Just, job searching sucks, you know?"

"Ah."

They talk for a while, about music of course, diving deeper and deeper into discussion about styles, artists, debuts, song writing. Robbie recommends a group or two, plays samples on the shop's excellent sound system. They're brilliant and exactly Blaine's style. Finally the man glances at the guitar in the corner.

"You play?"

"Yeah. Guitar, piano. I sing too, and write songs. But it's not enough to get a music related job apparently." Blaine laughs bitterly. He's exhausted every possibility he could think of by now. He may not have much choice but to accept a business position after all. So much for his creativity and freedom.

"You want to work in music?" Red Robbie raises an eyebrow.

"Yeah, that's what I was hoping for. I guess it's not gonna happen though. I may have to go back to what I'm actually educated for and experienced in."

"Which is?"

"Business and management."

"Hm."

Blaine looks up, hearing the tone of the other man's voice. It's… thoughtful, that's it.

"Hm?"

"Sing me something. Something I'll know and then something of yours. You've got the guitar and there's a keyboard behind the counter."

Blaine blinks. He feels like he's auditioning for something, but what? No matter, he'll show what he can do. He chooses two songs and performs, passion alighting his blood as it always does with music. Robbie watches him with an unreadable expression. He nods his head when Blaine switches off the keyboard.

"You're good, kid, really good. You'll go places if you only persist and keep working hard. Believe me, I can see these things. And you know stuff – not as much as I do, of course, but you're at least twenty years younger, so you have time to learn. So, would you like to work for me?"

* * *

><p>Blaine is still bouncing around his apartment when Kurt calls him back.<p>

"Blaine, what happened? You sounded frantic in your message."

"Nothing bad. Are you home already?"

"Not yet, just wrapping up the last shots. I should be back in an hour. Why?"

"We need to celebrate."

"Wait, wait… you got a job?" Excitement sneaks into Kurt's voice.

"Yes! And an _amazing_ one!"

"Oh my god, that's wonderful!" Blaine can almost see the wide grin on Kurt's face. "I'll grab champagne and come straight to your place. Unless you want to celebrate out?"

"No, here will be perfect. I can't get too wasted, I'm starting work tomorrow."

"Already?" Blaine starts to answer, but Kurt interrupts. "No, wait, don't tell me, they're calling me for the final shot and I want to hear _everything_. I'll be there in an hour tops!"

Kurt's there in 45 minutes instead, hugging Blaine hard as soon as he opens the door, and pushing two bottles into his hands.

"Here, already cold. Feed me first though or I may die. I'm _starving_. You'd think they expect models to actually live on a carrot and some yogurt. Okay. Tell me _everything_. Now."

Blaine laughs and fixes pasta for them both – he hasn't eaten dinner yet in all the excitement and cooking is another thing he's discovered that he enjoys – while describing his day.

"Robbie's wife is expecting, and since they've been trying to have a child for over ten years, he wants to spend much more time at home. The business is great, but he hasn't found anyone he considers worthy of taking over the shop yet, and he thinks I'll be just what he needs. It's awesome, Kurt! I can choose music to promote, playing it in the shop, or I can sing there myself whenever I want, even for customers. Apparently it's good for business. Every week there's a small concert there, and I get to choose what band or singer gets invited – to be approved by Robbie, of course. And in the quiet time I'll be able to work on my own songs. _And_ it actually pays better than I expected. I accepted immediately, of course. I'm starting tomorrow, Robbie wants to train me as soon as he can, since his wife is due in a month."

They eat, Blaine still talking about the record shop, almost bouncing with excitement, and he loves that Kurt just _gets_ it, asking questions and laughing and congratulating, honestly happy for him. That's one of the things that make them such good friends – they share the passion, the enthusiasm for things they love, they don't settle for _just enough_, but fight for more, for what they dream of – Blaine might have suppressed it for years, but it's there, it's in his nature and Kurt knows him well enough to recognize and encourage it.

The champagne is cold and bubbly and flows fast, they laugh and talk and dream aloud, and Kurt is so beautiful it hurts, with his eyes all sparkly and his cheeks flushed pink. So it's no wonder really, is it, that close to midnight, when Blaine is alone again and comfortable in his bed with the newly opened bottle of lube in hand, ready to experiment some more at last, Kurt's face is what comes to mind. When his slick hand closes around his cock, Blaine imagines Kurt's pink lips there instead, and his hips buck uncontrollably. And when a finger finally breaches his entrance, sliding easily inside, quickly followed by a second, in his mind it's his friend's hand, preparing him to be taken, claimed as _his_, and a shameless moan rips out of Blaine's throat.

The experiment turns out to be a huge success.

* * *

><p><strong>In the next chapter: <strong>Clubs and cafes


	7. Clubs and Cafes

**7. CLUBS AND CAFES**

A month passes in a blink - Blaine never thought he could be so happy. He wakes up excited to go to work and comes home smiling, satisfied with how he spent the day. Being immersed in music most of the time makes his inspiration skyrocket and new song ideas crowd his head. The customers love him and Robbie seems very happy with his work. Blaine feels like he's found the perfect job for his needs.

His friendship with Kurt is blooming too. Kurt's Saturday _thing_ has now officially become _their_ thing. They are a team; the kids from the group home love them to pieces, and it's not unrequited. They seem to fill a void in Blaine's heart he never knew was there. Of course, it's not the only thing he does with Kurt. Hardly a day goes by without them meeting. They drop by each other's places unannounced so often they've traded spare keys. At some point they've decided it's a waste of time to cook every day if they end up eating together anyway, so now they just decide who makes dinner on which day or when they eat out. They often go out together, to the movies and concerts, to bars or cafés, or meetings with other friends. Surprisingly, they haven't gotten bored with each other yet, not by a long shot.

Tonight they are out too, celebrating. Kurt finally got a big role; it's not lead, but it's much more than he's ever gotten before, so the occasion calls for some letting go and getting a little crazy. They do; they end up in a club, dancing till they can barely move, drinking tequila without one thought of unavoidable hangovers. Tomorrow is ages away, tonight is what counts. Kurt's eyes are discreetly outlined in black eyeliner, his skin sparkles coldly with glitter, and in his skintight black leather pants and silver top that's just about to slide off one shoulder he looks every bit the model he is. His movements are fluid, catlike, and god, he emanates _sexy_. Half the guys in the club are eyeing him hungrily and Blaine is absolutely certain many of them are questioning their heterosexuality right now. They both dance with many people – Blaine mostly flirted with by girls – but always find their way back to one another.

Around midnight they're already drunk and dancing so close they're practically grinding, their hips glued together, and Blaine can't help but groan quietly at the heat seeping from Kurt hard cock sliding against his own without warning. He can feel his friend shiver, his bare arms sliding to Blaine's neck and the small of his back, pulling him in, even closer, and Kurt's moan is just pornographic. When he starts gyrating his hips against Blaine's, it's almost too much.

"Kurt, fuck…" he chokes out, lips pressed against the sweaty skin of the other man's neck. "I'll come right here if you keep doing that."

Kurt doesn't seem concerned, his body pressing close, all toned muscles and smooth skin, his smell an overwhelming mixture of perfume and _Kurt_, heady. His tongue slides up Blaine's neck, making him whimper, before he whispers hoarsely in his ear.

"Don't you dare. You'll come when _I_ let you."

That almost does it, but Kurt bites his neck sharply and Blaine gets distracted for a moment, long enough to get a grip on himself. Then Kurt's tongue is soothing the sting, drawing wet, hot circles there as his mouth is sucking on the heated skin. Blaine moans, long and ragged, the sound lost in the music, but Kurt hears. Grabbing Blaine's hand, he pulls him through the dancing crowd, navigating with an ease that should be impossible after so many shots. They turn somewhere, once, twice, the flashing lights disorienting, until Blaine can feel thick fabric slide against his skin and away, and then they are in total darkness, the music muted, and Kurt is pressing against him frantically, kissing, biting, sucking at his neck like he's never tasted anything better, his hands unbuttoning Blaine's fly.

He almost explodes at the first stroke of Kurt's hand, his knees bucking, stopped just short by "Not until I let you, Blaine" growled – _growled! _– in his ear. It's the sweetest kind of torture, every move of Kurt's hand sending sparks over Blaine's skin, his muscles tensed into stone, his breathing fast and shallow, laced with sounds he'd be ashamed of making in any other circumstances, all need and lust and begging. The darkness intensifies all other sensations and he feels rather than sees Kurt lowering himself to his knees in front of him, his lips immediately attaching to a hipbone and sucking, his hand never even changing its rhythm. It's too much, entirely too much, but Blaine can't come, he can't until Kurt lets him, so he closes his eyes, bites his lip and just _feels_, his whole body waiting, strung almost too tight by the hot breath against his belly, teeth grazing his skin, hand playing with his balls. So when Kurt finally says, "You can come now," and his mouth slides over Blaine's cock a second later, not stopping until the head hits the back of his relaxed throat, it takes just several smooth slides in the tight velvet heat of Kurt's mouth enveloping him, and he's pulsing with release.

It seems like exhaustion and alcohol finally get to him then, because the next thing he knows, he's slumped on a hard floor, muscles uncooperative and heavy like lead, and someone – Kurt – is buttoning his pants back up. Then it's all unreal and foggy, flashing in too bright, blurry sequences; fresh night air, someone easing him into a cab, some stairs and a lost battle with a keyhole, someone taking the keys from him. And then Blaine wakes up in a darkened bedroom with a headache of the century.

He groans and tries not to move too much as he glances at a clock on his bedside table. But there's something else there, something that makes him forget all about time and thank all the gods he can think of – two pills of Advil lie right by a bottle of water, as if waiting for him to wake up. Blaine swallows the pills quickly, drinks half the water, and falls back onto the pillows, groaning.

The next time he wakes up, he feels a lot better. Well, his mouth is still dry and he feels dizzy, but at least there's no knife stabbing through his skull when he moves. He sits up and drinks some more water, finally managing to actually check the time; it's almost noon. Blaine takes in his surroundings. He's in his own bedroom, lying on top of his bedspread, covered with a blanket. He doesn't have his boots on, but other than that, he's still in the clothes he wore last night to the club. Ooh, the club, right! _That's_ why he feels like shit. There was dancing and tequila and more dancing and he must have drunk too much after all. Well, at least he got _such _a hot dream out of it.

Blaine gets up, intent on washing off the sweat and smell of alcohol that seem to seep through every pore of his skin. Shedding his clothes on the way to the bathroom and depositing them in the hamper, he stretches, passing a full-length mirror on a closet door. And freezes.

His skin has never been marked by another person, not in a sexual way. No scratch marks. No bruises where fingers dug a little too hard. No hickeys. So seeing his neck and collarbones covered with perfect, dark purple marks now is shocking. He looks lower, only to find more hickeys on his hipbones and stomach. There's even one high on his thigh. Blaine runs his fingertips over the marked skin and groans. There's no way he'll be able to cover his neck so that none of these are visible. He feels branded. Owned.

A thought that makes him painfully hard in a matter of seconds.

* * *

><p>There's no sign of hangover whatsoever on Kurt's face when he opens the door to let Blaine in an hour later – his a wizard with make-up after all – but he looks anxious and tense. One look at a light summer scarf around Blaine's neck and guilt flashes in Kurt's eyes, loud and clear. He reaches to unwind the scarf and gasps, hand covering his mouth. Hesitantly, he lifts the hem of Blaine's shirt and pales.<p>

"Fuck. I hoped I just imagined doing it."

"Well, I thought I dreamed it until I looked in the mirror."

"I'm sorry Blaine. I know it doesn't change anything, but I really am sorry. And alcohol shouldn't be an excuse, but…"

"Why?"

"What?"

Blaine shrugs.

"Why are you sorry? I don't mind. It was fucking hot. I know we slipped from the _no benefits_ rule, but so what? It happens. Don't worry about it."

"But… you can't go to work like this."

"So I'll wear scarves. Or you'll teach me your tricks with concealer."

Kurt brightens a little, visibly relieved.

"I will. But it doesn't change the fact that you're my friend and a married man and I know that and it still didn't stop me. What does that make me?"

"Human, Kurt. Just human."

"And you really aren't mad at me?" Kurt looks at him hopefully and even if Blaine was mad, he'd have to stop right then under his gaze.

"I'm really not. But I am hungry. Feed me, feed me, feed me!"

Kurt laughs and they go to the kitchen to fix something to eat. When they're sitting over plates of eggs and bacon moments later, Kurt looks at Blaine seriously.

"You know you've got to talk with Jessica, right? You can't procrastinate forever."

Blaine sighs heavily.

"I know, I know. I will. Just as soon as I don't look like I got attacked by an angry octopus, alright?"

At least Kurt has the decency to throw toast at him, and not eggs.

* * *

><p>Two weeks later Blaine is pacing back and forth across his small living room, with Kurt sitting patiently on the couch. He has to leave in ten minutes and he hasn't been this nervous in a long time.<p>

"Kurt, why can't you go with me? I need support! Friends give friends support!" He knows he's whining, but he can't help it.

"We talked about it, Blaine." Kurt is a picture of patience. "If I go with you, it will ruin any chances you have of resolving it on friendly terms. You can't tell a girl you're gay and then come end it officially with a gay friend by your side."

"But you're not my boyfriend." Something flashes over Kurt's face. Impatience at last? They've been over this twice already. But his voice is perfectly calm and soothing.

"No, but she doesn't know that. And you are incapable of lying. What if she asks if you've slept with me?"

Blaine sighs. He knows Kurt's right, of course. But he'd feel so much calmer with him there. Oh well. It's his problem to deal with. He'll survive.

"Wish me luck."

Kurt gets up to hug him tightly.

"You'll be fine. Whatever happens, remember you did the right thing. For yourself, and for her too. And when you're done, I'll be at home waiting for you. With dinner and wine."

That's a comforting thought.

* * *

><p>Jessica is already at the café when Blaine arrives, five minutes early. They nod at each other politely, not touching or kissing. He orders coffee for both of them, knowing exactly the way she always drinks it, and they settle at a solitary corner table. Jess takes him in with her piercing blue eyes and smirks.<p>

"Well well, someone got laid."

Blaine pales.

"What?"

"You had sex. You're not the shy blushing virgin anymore."

He doesn't say anything. Kurt is right, he can't lie convincingly. And honestly, he doesn't want to lie about it. It would be denying who he is, and he's done doing it. Jess laughs.

"It's okay. Just, tell me… was it a guy?"

He blushes, still unable to look at her.

"Yes."

"So you really _are_ gay."

"I am."

"And here I tried to get into your pants so many times and it turns out you were utterly uninterested. At first I thought it was just me, but you never looked at anyone _that way_; finally I did some research; for a while I thought maybe you were asexual. Which I would have been fine with, but it turns out I'm just the wrong gender." She sighs. "You really didn't know before?"

Blaine unwinds slowly, his nerves settling a little. It's not that bad so far.

"I guess I didn't let myself see it. The one time I let out that I found guys attractive, my family launched a whole campaign to set me straight. Literally. I was twelve and they never stopped. And they can be _very_ persuasive."

Jessica nods, something like compassion in her eyes.

"I can believe that. I spent three days with your parents and the thought that I could have lived with them stopped being nice and quickly became scary. They're really… opinionated, aren't they?"

Blaine snorts.

"That's one way to put it."

They smile at each other, a thread of understanding between them. There's a moment of silence as they both drink their coffee, before Jess speaks.

"My parents want me to make this as difficult for you as possible. They're furious, everyone knows already that their daughter got dumped right after her wedding. It's the gossip of the decade; I don't know how they'll ever survive this."

Blaine can feel his blood pressure rising. He's done his research and knows that he can apply for annulment himself, since their marriage was never consummated, but if Jess wanted, she could make it a very long, difficult and expensive process. And with what he just told her, he's basically given her all the ammunition she'd need. But honestly… maybe that's just what he deserves. He never wanted to hurt anyone, but the truth is, he had. He fiddles with his coffee, afraid to look at her.

"I'm sorry, Jess. I really am. You should never have had to go through all this. But the truth is, I'd have hurt you more if I'd stayed. I love you, but not the way a husband should; just… like a friend, a sister. You deserve someone who will truly love you in every possible way and will spend his whole life making you happy, and I'm just not that person."

The soft tone of her voice surprises him and he looks up.

"I know, Blaine. And I won't make any trouble. I'll apply for annulment next week and we'll deal with it like civilized people we are. I'll let you know as soon as I know anything."

"Wait… you're not mad with me? You don't want revenge?"

Jess smiles sadly.

"I was mad for a while. I was brokenhearted. Now? I'm mostly just sad. You said it yourself, you're unable to love me the way I want you to. But I love _you_ and I want you to be happy. _Are_ you happy?"

Blaine feels tears sting his eyes.

"I am. I'm happier than I've ever been before, I think. I finally know who I am, I have a job I love and I'm free to live the way I want to."

"I'm glad then. So, you basically admitted you got laid. Does that mean you have someone?"

"No. I'm married, remember?"

She smiles sadly.

"We both know it's just a formality, it doesn't really mean anything. Go on and live your life. I don't mind."

"I'll wait. That's the least I can do."

They finish their coffee, but there's not much to say anymore, so they say their goodbyes soon and go their separate ways. Blaine feels like he's closing the door to his old life for good.

* * *

><p><strong>In the next chapter: <strong>Freedom


	8. Freedom

**8. FREEDOM**

Time passes. Blaine meets with Jessica once more to take care of all the formalities and then there's only waiting for the formal decision. It can take months, but he already decided he'd put off anything dating or relationship-related, or even sexual, until he's really a free man. It just feels right this way, to begin his new life with clean conscience.

There are no more slip-ups between him and Kurt after that night in the club; they are as close as ever, but careful not to cross that line. Only sometimes when Blaine's playing with his new toys, which are definitely some of the best purchases he's ever made, does he allow himself to remember his friend's lips and teeth marking him, his come branding his skin like a sign of ownership, his voice growling and possessive; when he does, the effect is instantaneous. It's a funny thing, he muses, the way he seems to get off on these particular memories more than on anything else.

Everything in Blaine's life seems to be going right at this point. He loves his job. After the first four months he gets a raise and even more independence running the shop; he feels like he's in his element there. The folder containing his original songs thickens quickly and one day Robbie mentions a producer friend from out of town who wants to hear Blaine perform. He even gets to play his own concert once, receiving generous cheers and praise all around.

Blaine's social life consists mostly of Kurt and the group home, but he has made several other friends that he meets with sometimes. He has no contact with his parents whatsoever, hasn't since that one phone call, but more and more he feels like the Hummel-Hudsons have adopted him; he joins his friend every time he goes to Lima now. Finn's wedding is in six months, and the last time they visited, Blaine had seen the guest list, his name listed under "Groom's family". He'd had to bite back tears, barely keeping himself in check, but Burt had noticed, laying his hand on Blaine's shoulder and smiling wordlessly.

It's hard to imagine his life without them all now. He looks back and sees barren, dry scenery and a sad, repressed man destined to live in lies and unhappiness. He shudders, realizing just how close he was to actually living that life.

Two weeks from that last visit to Lima and almost half a year since his meeting with Jess in the café, Blaine gets the official paper stating that their marriage has been annulled. He's free.

He runs to Kurt, of course – it's the first thing he does when anything important happens, sharing his happiness or trouble with the only person who will always understand. And Kurt does understand, of course, making him go home and dress up, and then taking him to the best restaurant in town to celebrate. They're finishing their post-dinner coffee, blissfully full and happy with life, when Kurt asks, "So what are you going to do now, when you're officially single again?"

Blaine laughs. _Single_ has never sounded better.

"I think I'm going to date at last."

The smile on his friend's face doesn't falter, as if glued there. He seems tense for some reason, or maybe it's just the flickering light of the candles that makes him look like it.

"Anyone in particular?"

He shakes his head.

"No, I don't have my eye on anyone. I guess I'll just have to put myself on the market, look around."

Blaine chooses this moment to drain his cup, so when he looks up at Kurt, he can see him taking on this forcefully cheerful expression he uses when he doesn't want to let his feelings show, not the emotion that was there before. He frowns, confused.

"What? Do you think it's a bad idea?" Did he miss something? Kurt's encouraged him to start dating right from the beginning, didn't he? Not _him_, because they're friends, but date in general. Why would he be against it now?

Kurt shakes his head, as if he's been shaken out of deep thought.

"What? Why? No, I just… I don't feel that good. I've got this… pain all of a sudden. Would you mind if we just went home? I think I need to lie down."

Blaine feels worried now. Kurt doesn't get sick, he never has.

"Are you sure you're alright?"

"Yeah, yeah. It happens sometimes. It's nothing dangerous, just… painful. It will pass. Don't worry. Let's just go."

The next morning Kurt seems to be perfectly fine, so Blaine quickly forgets about the incident.

* * *

><p>Blaine's first date is Steve. They meet in the record shop where Steve is a regular. They talk about music a few times, until one day when the conversation becomes more personal and after learning that yes, Blaine is gay and single, Steve asks him out. Blaine is so excited about it he drops by Kurt's place on his way from work to share the news. He finds his friend dressed to kill in jeans so tight they look painted on, knee-high boots and clingy steel blue shirt. Kurt smiles, opening the door.<p>

"Oh, hi Blaine! Sorry, I'm just leaving. Do you want to walk with me?"

"Sure! Where are you going?"

Kurt laughs carelessly.

"I've got a date."

Blaine is taken by surprise.

"A date?"

"Yeah, of course. What, are you the only one who can date?"

"Oh, no! Of course not, I didn't mean it like that. So who's the lucky guy?"

Kurt shrugs. "Another model, Josh. He's been pursuing me for weeks, I figured I might as well give him a chance. If nothing else, I should get some nice sex out of it. Guy's seriously hot."

Blaine feels a pang of _something_ at that – jealousy? No, he can't feel jealous; he had sex with Kurt, he's his friend, but that doesn't give him right to feel possessive. He quickly squishes the feeling before it has chance to bloom and grow.

"Great. I have a date too. Tomorrow night."

Something flashes over Kurt's face. "Oh. Have fun then."

"Wait, I won't see you tomorrow?"

"Probably not. I may stay with Josh if things turn out well. We both have a free day tomorrow, may as well use it. So. I'll call you, okay? Just remember, be safe." There's a fleeting soft smile and then Kurt's gone, leaving Blaine strangely lonely.

* * *

><p>Blaine's date goes well; Steve is good-looking, funny and knows a lot about music, so the conversation flows easily. They kiss goodbye late in the evening and it's nice, actually kissing a man, even though there are no fireworks. But maybe they will come with time. They meet again two days later and then twice the next week, finally ending up in Steve's downtown apartment. Blaine's a bit nervous now that he actually has a chance to get close to another man. It was different with Kurt – Kurt he knew and trusted. This… this is one big unknown. He's prepared – he's got a small bottle of lube and some condoms with him, just in case, but he's not entirely sure he's ready to go all the way just yet. Yes, the dates are nice, but there's just something… missing. Still, his body slowly reacts to proximity of another man, Steve's lips tracing Blaine's neck, hand moving up his thigh. He lets himself be swept away and just <em>feel<em>, giving back as much as he gets.

Soon they're both shirtless and panting into each other's mouth, hands opening each other's pants. Blaine touches Steve's dick shyly, strokes it slowly, but the other man is going right for the kill, leaning over his open fly, his intentions obvious, a condom in his hand, and Blaine braces himself for what he knows to be one of the best feelings in the world, that hot-tight-wet of mouth on him. Sure enough, there it comes, though dulled by the thin film of latex, and he waits for that electricity that will alight all his nerves, this sparkly bubbly feeling in his blood. He waits. And waits. There's the drag of tongue on him, the gentle sucking as Steve's head bobs up and down, and it's good, it's pleasure all right, but where's this magic he knows from his previous blowjobs, all three of them, but still? He can still think clearly, control the steady movement of his hand on the other man's cock, analyze what he's feeling, fuck – even take in the décor of Steve's living room. He tries to focus, to feel what surely must be there, but minutes pass and soon his date is trembling, close, and Blaine… well, he's nowhere near there.

Giving up, he reaches for the one thing he knows to be a sure way to slam him into release every time: the memory of another man's lips, another man's hands and cock and voice. And it's enough, just as it always is, but there's a bittersweet feeling to his orgasm, because dating was supposed to help him replace those memories with new ones, give him new experiences to focus on and well… it's not happening. Oh well, maybe Steve just isn't the right man. There's no spark there. That must be it.

Blaine feels bad when a few days later, over coffee, he tells Steve they won't date anymore, but the other man is fine with it, which is a relief. Now that Blaine's mind isn't preoccupied with the excitement of dating someone new, he realizes that he's only seen Kurt three times in the last two weeks, two of which were their drama/music classes. Suddenly he misses his friend terribly. He wants to talk to him, tell him about Steve, about that awkward blowjob, ask if it's normal to feel the way he had. Or hadn't. Of course, he'll have to omit the part where he'd fantasized about Kurt to finally get there – now _that_ would be embarrassing.

He grabs the phone, but Kurt's not picking up, so he leaves a message, realizing that for the first time in months he doesn't even know when and where his friend is working this week. Blaine only knows that he's busy – aside from work, there's the premiere of the musical he's in approaching, so he must be tired. But when Kurt calls him back late that evening, there's laugh in his voice and music and conversations in the background. They talk for a minute or two, planning when to meet between their various obligations, but then a male voice is calling "Kurt, babe, the cab is waiting, come on!" and his friend giggles, sounding tipsy and silly, promises to call tomorrow and hangs up.

Blaine is left standing there, open-mouthed and feeling as if someone pulled the rug from under him. Kurt's been there for him all along, every single day since he's come out. He's been the one person Blaine could always, _always_ rely on – to find time for him whenever he called or dropped in, to listen, to understand. The realization that he has to share his best friend with the rest of the world stings surprisingly.

They have a chance to meet the next day and they talk; Kurt tells Blaine all about the rehearsals at the theater and the fashion show he had this week. He assures Blaine that yes, it's completely natural not to feel the same with every sexual partner. They make an effort to meet regularly again, except it's not the same anymore because there's Josh now, joining them every now and then – ridiculously handsome, tall and sculpted, always sitting too close to Kurt who doesn't mind in the slightest, touching his thigh, his neck, god, his _ass_ when he thinks nobody is watching. And Blaine just _can't stand him_.

So two weeks later when they go to a club, all three of them, Blaine feeling like a third wheel next to the touchy-feely, slightly drunk couple, he's relieved when a sexy Asian man with mischievous sparks in his eyes asks him to dance. The man is gorgeous, his movements fluid like a ninja's, and maybe it's the number of drinks Blaine's already downed, but they just click. They talk animatedly and dance as the night progresses, kissing more and more passionately, making out in dark corners and taking body shots off each other. He's thinking dazedly about inviting this guy over to spend the night, but then Kurt finds him, Josh nowhere to be seen this time, and pulls him out yelling in his ear that their cab is waiting, so Blaine just takes the man's – Lee's – number, promising to call.

He does, two days later, excited and hopeful, eager for some romance and sexiness he got a taste of at the club – and _man_, were there sparks – and they meet for drinks that evening. Except nothing goes right; the conversation is stiff without the buzz of alcohol and the feverish background of music and dancing, Lee's jokes are crude and not even slightly funny and when he delivers a five-minute tirade about the closeted gays who can't find it in themselves to come out, and how they deserve the miserable lives they get to live for their cowardice, Blaine suddenly remembers a very important job thing he absolutely has to finish before the morning and bids his quick goodbye, forgetting to set another time to meet again.

_Maybe the third time will be the charm_, he muses a week later, sitting on a bar stool. He's all by himself this time; Kurt's in the last week of rehearsals running up to the premiere of the play and barely finds time to sleep or eat, so Blaine decided to try braving a gay bar for the first time. Soon enough, there's a low, seductive voice from his right, "Hey gorgeous, mind if I join you? I'm Sam."

Sam is a tanned, muscular guy with shoulder-length jet black hair and arms tattooed from his wrists to his shoulders in complicated, colorful designs. The one thing that immediately pulls Blaine to him as they start talking is his self confidence, emanating from every gesture, every word. It's not that he's cocky, he's just… in control. And Blaine realizes with a start how much that turns him on already. Soon they're flirting shamelessly, their glasses seemingly refilling themselves continuously, their words and gestures becoming bolder over time, and when Sam tells him two hours later that they should go to a more private place, Blaine doesn't even hesitate.

They're barely out of the bar when Sam pulls him into a narrow dark alley beside it and presses him to the wall to kiss him roughly, all tongue and teeth, and Blaine can't suppress his moan. Sam pulls away after a while, his voice gravelly.

"You like it? Oh, I can see you do. You are fucking gorgeous, you know? I've been hard for an hour, just watching your lips while you spoke, god."

Blaine shivers, waves of arousal washing over him quickly, making him want to submit, to let go, and he falls into another kiss with fierce passion. Sam's tongue practically fucks his mouth and Blaine moans, his hips stuttering forward, seeking friction. And friction he gets – the other man pins him harder against the wall and grinds against him slowly.

"Not so fast. I want to savor you before I make you fall apart." Keeping the languid pace of his hips, Sam pushes Blaine's arms up, against the wall over his head, and secures them both like that with one hand. The other one slides down to dive under the shirt and tease a nipple while Sam's wet, open lips move to the side of his neck. Blaine whines high and breathless, wanting more, _more_, as he can feel teeth and hot tongue just under his ear, biting, sucking. Marking.

_Marking_.

Just one word in his brain and it feels like he's been doused with a bucket of ice water. His eyes snap open, hips stilling. Sam feels him stiffen and pulls away, letting go of his hands.

"Everything alright?"

Blaine doesn't know what to say, how to explain this. He craved this, _want_ pulsing in his veins just seconds before, and then… the thought of being _marked_ by a stranger suddenly makes him nauseous.

"Yeah. No. I… I need to go. Sorry, Sam. I… I'm sorry."

He flees from the alley, catches the first passing cab and goes home. As soon as he's in his kitchen with a cup of mint tea to settle his queasiness, there's a knock on the door. Kurt's tired smile as he enters freezes as soon as he looks at Blaine's neck and _shit_, he hasn't even checked how bad it is himself. But it must be, because Kurt smirks in an exaggerated, forced way as he takes in his friend's appearance.

"So, I gather the dating is going well? Have you found someone worth staying with yet?"

Blaine can feel himself blush and he isn't sure why. It's Kurt after all, they talk about everything.

"No, no luck so far."

"Well, maybe you're looking in the wrong direction."

It's muttered so low Blaine isn't sure he's heard properly, let alone knows what Kurt means.

"Wait, what?"

"Nothing. I hope you'll meet someone good enough soon."

* * *

><p>He does. Actually, it's at the premiere of Kurt's musical that Blaine meets David. They're sitting next to each other, so they start talking during the break, and it's easy and natural. There's <em>something<em> there, so they exchange phone numbers afterwards, before Blaine goes backstage to find his friend and congratulate him on being absolutely amazing, the star of the show. Then there's a phone call or two, and dates, and it turns out they're a good fit, intellectually and, later, physically. Blaine feels happy, discovering what it feels like to really date someone, slowly let them in and see yourself getting closer to them. The first time they have sex, five weeks after they met, Blaine stays the night and they wake up together to fall into each other again before sharing breakfast and a lazy Sunday morning. It's good. Their relationship grows and it seems like it's everything Blaine has ever wanted. He's happy.

Finally, he introduces David to Kurt, who is his perfectly charming self, smiling and nice, but when Blaine proposes a double date with him and Josh, he gets a simple _No_ in return. It's only a week later, after much drilling and whining, that Kurt finally reveals the reason.

"_No_ Blaine, I have nothing against David, but I can't exactly go on a double date when I'm single!"

"Wait, what? Where's Josh?"

"Hopefully with his new boyfriend. Seeing how hard Josh fell for him, he would be shattered if it didn't work out."

"But… you two… You were so in love!"

Kurt looks at him disbelievingly.

"No, we weren't. You really thought we were?"

Blaine's jaw drops.

"Um, yeah?"

Kurt laughs shortly.

"No, Blaine. We were each other's substitutes until either of us found someone." He rolls his eyes, seeing Blaine's confused expression. "Fuck buddies, if you prefer."

"Oh." Blaine looks at him, worried, because this can't be good for Kurt, can it? Sure, he's strong and stubborn and bold, but he's also so fragile and vulnerable sometimes, even if not many people get to ever see him like that. And Blaine can't stand the thought of Kurt getting hurt. But his friend just shakes his head, his face carefully set into a cheerful mask.

"So thank you again for the offer, but no double dates. I don't have time or patience for boyfriends anyway. You two have fun though."

And they do. Really. For about three more weeks, until the night when David takes Blaine for a romantic dinner and over desserts, tells him that he loves him.

* * *

><p><strong>End notes:<strong> And I'll leave you with this for the weekend :) It's not a cliffhanger, is it? It's a… vague ending of the chapter? Or something? Really. Definitely not a cliffhanger. I know everyone hates these.

I'll upload the next chapter on Monday, not Sunday this time – I'm sorry!

**In the next chapter:** The difference


	9. The Difference

**9. THE DIFFERENCE**

Kurt's phone blares at 1:26 a.m., waking him up. He looks at the display and groans. Why is Blaine calling him? He was supposed to have had a romantic date with David tonight, why would he call after that? To twist the knife in Kurt's heart some more, sharing intimate details? Kurt answers anyway, of course, not even trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice.

"Yes, Blaine? Do you have any idea what time it is?"

Blaine's voice is slurry, slow, and there's music and a murmur of voices in the background.

"Kuuuuuurt… Kurt, I think I'm broken."

Oh great. A _drunken _late night call then. This should be fun. Blaine stays quite eloquent even when he's really drunk, but the way his mind works is often hard to follow. Kurt pulls the duvet up to his chin and curls up in the bed, preparing for a long conversation. Date or not, if Blaine got wasted afterwards, he must have had a reason.

"Why do you think you're broken, Blaine?"

"I broke up with David."

The fact that Kurt's heart accelerates at the news makes him feel instantly guilty, like the worst friend in the world.

"But why?"

"Because… Kurt, he said he loved me."

"Oh." Shit, that hurts. He's careful to keep his tone neutral when he asks. "Well, that's good, isn't it?"

"Yeah, but. Kurt. I… I don't."

His heart is fluttering now. He shouldn't be happy about this, damnit!

"You don't what?"

"Love. Him." There's a choked up sob from the speaker. "Kurt, what if I'm broken? What if I'm just unable to love, what if I'm some sort of sociopath, completely without feelings, like in the movies? I mean, first Jess, now David… I'm going to be alone forever, I'll live with twelve cats and nobody will even know when I die, and they'll have to eat my dead body to keep from starving."

"Really Blaine? _Really_? Twelve cats?"

"What? I have a lot of love to give, definitely enough for twelve cats. Thirteen, maybe. And you just changed the subject because you agree, don't you? Oh god, I _am_ broken." Sobs are clearly audible now, increasing in intensity. Kurt sighs. It's not a conversation they should be having when Blaine's in this state.

"And you just answered your own question about lack of feelings. Okay, okay. Listen to me. Tell me where you are, I'll come get you and we'll talk then, okay?"

Blaine sniffles into the phone. "Yeah. I'm at Vincent's. You know, near campus."

Kurt shakes his head. "That hole in the wall? Why would you go there, god, it always smells _terrible _in there."

"It was close."

Kurt sighs. "Alright, don't move, I'll be there in ten minutes."

* * *

><p>When Kurt enters the small bar, he finds his friend sitting at a tiny, sticky table, staring into a glass of amber liquid. He comes closer and lays his hand on Blaine's shoulder. When Kurt speaks, his voice is quiet and soft, comforting.<p>

"Hey, I'm here. Come on, I'll take you home."

Immediately, Blaine's arms are around his waist, holding tight, his face hidden in the fabric of Kurt's coat. Willing his fluttering heart to calm down, Kurt threads his fingers through soft dark curls. Two stocky men at the next table look at them with open hostility. Time to go. He squeezes Blaine's shoulder.

"Blaine. Get up. We have to go."

Thankfully, Blaine finally reacts, getting up on unsteady legs and immediately leaning most of his weight on his friend's shoulder. Kurt embraces him and helps him out, to the car, where Blaine slumps into the seat, not even bothering to reach for the seatbelt. Kurt fastens it for him before going around to the driver's side. They are halfway home when Blaine finally speaks.

"Can I go home with you? I don't wanna be alone."

Kurt glances sideways. Blaine has never seemed so depressed, not even right after coming out, when everything in his life had changed. Tears are running down his face and his beautiful amber eyes look like liquid honey in the light of the streetlamps. Kurt feels his heart squeeze.

"Of course."

They get to Kurt's apartment in silence and Blaine seems distant, absent. Kurt leaves him in the bedroom with a pair of pajama pants, going to prepare the couch for him. When he comes back he finds his friend shirtless, but otherwise still dressed, fast asleep, his legs on the floor. Sighing, with very little cooperation, he helps Blaine out of the tight jeans and socks, leaving only his boxer briefs on, somehow managing to maneuver him up the bed and under the duvet. He considers sleeping on the couch himself, but Blaine's so drunk he probably shouldn't be left alone – or at least that's what Kurt tells himself. Pulling pajama pants on, he clambers into bed beside his friend and falls asleep surprisingly fast.

* * *

><p>Kurt wakes up in the darkness with warm body pressing against his back, fingertips tracing light patterns on his chest and hot mouth hungrily kissing the nape of his neck. Still disoriented but already hard, he shivers and moans, arching into the man behind him, feeling an erection press against his ass. Half asleep, he rolls his hips, but then his name is gasped in the darkness and suddenly he realizes where he is and, more importantly, whom he is with.<p>

Blaine. Blaine, in his bed, clinging to him. Blaine's curls tickling his neck as he kisses his way down to Kurt's shoulder blade. Blaine's leg hiked over Kurt's hip to pull him even closer. Blaine. Kurt's first love, his _only_ love so far, seven years of dreaming and hoping in spite of everything. It would be _so_ easy to give in to temptation, to take this night, just another night if he can't have anything else, another memory to string together with the others and hide deep in his heart for safekeeping. What could it hurt? Kurt feels so weak tonight, unable to resist.

So he turns in Blaine's arms, molding himself against the hard planes of the body he'd memorized the first time he was allowed to see and touch it, the body he's seen in a hundred dreams and fantasies since then. He presses into the man he can't have as if daring him to see, to understand Kurt's feelings through touch alone, skin against skin, frantic fingers caressing, loving, writing messages of _want_ and _love_ and _always_ into Blaine's skin.

Blaine's neck is sweaty when he licks it, he smells of alcohol and a little of cigarette smoke from the bar, but it doesn't matter, because underneath it all is _Blaine_ and Kurt has never really wanted anyone else. He wonders if he ever will when his first love, the love he never acted on, never confessed, is a man who's everything Kurt ever wanted. Maybe _he_ will be the one to end up living with twelve cats and die alone. Or maybe he'll always have fuck buddies, dates, boyfriends, men who are good, but never good enough, never someone he wants to share his life with, confess all his thoughts to, wake up next to every single day. Never someone he wants to marry and have children with, adopted children like the ones from their group home and biological children if they want to. A full house, with laughter and music and joy.

It's so easy to close his eyes and let their bodies tell a story of desire, trust and love, of promises and the future. It doesn't matter that it's just a fantasy. It doesn't matter that it will hurt in the morning, like a barely sealed wound brutally opened again. It won't hurt any more than it already does, it can't. Because Kurt understands and accepts that this particular future is never to be. He's put himself out there as far as he dares. He'd hinted and showed his interest as much as he could. He never said anything openly, because that could just break them. And another morning of waking up to this beautiful face, only to realize once again that Blaine will never be his, won't hurt more than realizing Kurt is not even a blip on his dating radar, or seeing him marked by another man, kissed by other men, knowing that other men get to touch him and love him.

Kurt's fingers are about to slide under the last layer of cotton when Blaine combs his fingers through the hair on the back of his head and pulls him in for a kiss, wet and sloppy, and Kurt stiffens and pulls away immediately. No. Anything but this. This… it's too personal, too intimate. He's not sure why, he never had a problem kissing other guys, but he never loved any of them, either. Here, it's like Blaine already has Kurt's everything, it's his for the taking – his body and soul, his love and desire, his promises and future if he wants it, and this, kissing him, is the one last thing Kurt can withhold and save for when – _if_ really, and it's an ever weakening if – Blaine wants to have all this with him. If he gives up this last thing and is left empty-handed, he'll have nothing more to offer. It may be silly, but it's how Kurt feels.

So he withdraws now, suddenly too sad, too tired to continue, and strokes the stubbly cheek, smiling softly.

"No, Blaine. Boundaries, remember? We're friends. I want us to _stay_ friends."

"Okay." The other man is mumbling sleepily, eyes closing, no resistance at all. He looks adorable. "Cuddle with me. Please?"

And Kurt can at least do this. Not that he could deny such a request anyway. He closes his arms around Blaine, who immediately shuffles closer and settles into Kurt's embrace, his head fitting perfectly in the hollow under Kurt's chin. He purrs contentedly and stills, his breath steadying and slowing in a matter of minutes.

Kurt lies awake a bit longer, thoughts of _why_ and _how_ and _if only_ whirring in his head. After a long while he lightly kisses the warm forehead resting so invitingly just beneath his lips and whispers against the smooth skin.

"See, that's the difference between us, love. You just want moments with me. And I want you forever."

* * *

><p>"<em>I want you forever.<em>"

When Blaine wakes up it is the first thing he remembers, even before he's fully conscious. This one sentence, a memory fresh and sticking out more than anything else that had happened last night, waiting to be processed. It takes his breath away, the shock of it.

Could it mean what he thinks it means? Was it even real and not a dream? No, that much Blaine is absolutely certain of: it had been real. Even through the pounding headache and dizziness of hangover, he still feels the tender touch of Kurt's lips on his forehead and hears the whisper, quiet and sad. He doesn't open his eyes; he has to settle into this realization before he can look at Kurt. Because if Blaine is not mistaken – and he really can't see how he could have misunderstood – then Kurt _wants him_. And not just as a friend. He wants _forever_ with Blaine. And he called him _love_, a word that sank quietly, swiftly right to the middle of Blaine's chest, where it's sitting now, warm and reassuring.

He knows he wasn't supposed to hear those words, but he had, drifting somewhere between reality and dreams, completely relaxed and safe in the warmth and comfort surrounding him. And now that he's heard, he needs to know what this means – for him, for _them_; as friends or as… more than that. Could they _be _more than friends? It's the first time he lets himself even consider such an option and it suddenly feels so obvious he has no idea why he never thought about it.

Or maybe he does.

He remembers the first year of college, when he and Kurt became roommates. Opening up a rusty, long locked door in his brain, he recalls his reaction when he first saw Kurt – the awe, attraction, desire – and the nights afterwards, when he fought it so hard his lips were bloody from being bitten, because the most perfect human being he'd ever seen was sleeping just ten feet from him, but it was a _boy_ and it was sick and impossible and forbidden. That's what he had been told, that's what his whole family had been telling him for years. Blaine wasn't gay. _He wasn't._ He didn't have a crush on Kurt, he didn't _want _him like that, Kurt was just… aesthetically pleasing, that's all.

So Blaine fought with himself and he won, because after a couple of weeks he saw Kurt strictly as a friend, _just_ a friend, never anything more. He didn't _allow_ himself to think about anything more, _ever_. Yes, it had felt like ripping out a piece of himself, some knowledge, some kind of truth, but in time he got used to feeling incomplete and eventually, it became normal.

Now, looking back, he can clearly see how his true sexuality had been showing; the force with which he repressed it is scary in retrospect. But now… now he _knows_ he's gay. Now he _accepts_ it. So what does this mean for him and Kurt? How does Blaine really feel about his best friend?

It's always been such a taboo that it feels like a sacrilege now to tear down all the walls, push aside fear and denial and prohibitions, and just _look_. See Kurt. Not Kurt the best friend. Not Kurt the lover, the mentor, like he was for a moment. Just _Kurt_, the way Blaine's known him inside and out, for years.

If he's looking for an answer from his… instinct? subconscious?, he gets it immediately in the way his heart flutters and his mind fills with images, possibilities, hope. But there's more than that. Without the walls he raised years ago, without the blinds he's been wearing, he realizes that he still feels the same, that he's felt it for years, maybe from that freshman year of college when they got to know each other and discover just how perfectly they fit. He still feels the same, but only now it's all so obvious – his months-long depression after he cut all contact with Kurt, the inability to be without each other for longer than a couple of days now, the trust, the attraction, the best sex he's ever had, the fantasies… Everything. _Everything fits_.

No wonder he could never love anyone else. No wonder he couldn't even imagine himself loving – truly loving – Jessica or David.

It was impossible when his heart has belonged to someone else all along.

Filled to bursting with this new knowledge, this absolute certainty, Blaine opens his eyes, smiling, ready to see Kurt and just _tell him_ already. But there's no one there. He's alone in Kurt's bed, a glass of water and a bottle of aspirin on the bedside table, a piece of paper folded in two beside them. Blaine picks it up. It's a note, in Kurt's handwriting.

_Blaine,_

_I had to run, I have two photoshoots from hell today. I should be back around 8 p.m., feel free to stay if you want to; we can eat dinner when I'm back._

_K._

_PS. I called Robbie for you; you should contact him yourself when you feel better._

_PPS. Your clothes smell of __eau de bar__. I left you some of mine in the bathroom._

_PPPS. Keep yourself watered. And I mean, with actual water, not coke._

_PPPPS. No, you're __not__ broken. Yes, you __are__ capable of love. Maybe you just haven't found the right person yet. Stop trying to name your hypothetical future cats._

_Now I really gotta run. See you later!_

Blaine smiles fondly and resists the urge to press the note to his lips. Yes, that's Kurt; thoughtful and caring as ever. A whole day without him seems much too long, when Blaine wants to tell him what he realized, _right now_. He can't sit still, his thoughts churning in a mad whirlwind of elation and hope; he's been blind for so long, any additional minute apart feels like a lifetime now that he can finally see. But since he can't help it, he may as well use the day productively.

By eleven Blaine has showered, eaten breakfast and his headache has subsided. He calls Robbie, explaining what happened last night; thankfully, his boss is understanding and tells him to take his time, take care of himself and to come back on Monday. The rest of the day is spent on preparations – he's got a plan. An epic plan. Because with a man like Kurt… there's no other way to say "I've been in love with you since the day we met". Around seven everything is ready – the dinner is in the oven, the kitchen table set, the living room prepared for what he has in mind for later. All Blaine can do is wait.

Suddenly, he has doubts. Is it too much? Too little? Is the song as perfect as he thinks it is? What if he's too late in this realization? What if he misunderstood what Kurt meant? Or, god forbid, _did_ just dream about it? Because, frankly, when could Kurt have fallen in love with him? And why just now – because now he's openly gay? Not even a year ago Kurt told him he thought he still loved his ex. The bastard that broke his heart. Whoever that… was…

Oh shit.

It's not… _Surely_ it can't have been…

But the evidence all fits, sliding into his mind neatly, as if it's all been waiting for him to put the pieces together.

… _Not after I did everything I could to forget you, to kill this… this thing…_

… _He was… everything I'm looking for in a man…_

… _It's nothing dangerous, just… painful…_

… _maybe you're looking in the wrong direction…_

Oh god.

All these years, and he's never realized. How could he have been so stupid, so blind… How many times had he hurt Kurt with his obliviousness, his stubborn denial, his insensitivity? Saying or doing something without ever thinking there could _be_ something there, anything more than friendship. And Kurt? Still here, still the best friend Blaine could ever dream of, in spite of all this. Never complaining. Always giving and understanding. These nights together… Blaine bites his lip, remembering that he basically pushed for sex, suddenly realizing just how difficult, how painful it must have been for Kurt. And yet… he gave Blaine that, just like everything else.

He feels like crying. And then he _is_ crying, there on the couch where he first touched Kurt like a lover all those months ago. He doesn't deserve Kurt. There's no way this thing he prepared is enough to make up for years of hurting him. But he has to try. Because his heart tells him _That's it, this is who you've been searching for all your life_. He can't – won't – back down now. And if Kurt accepts him in spite of it all, Blaine will spend his life making up for past hurts, making sure he never causes him any more pain.

The clock is ticking. Eight is only minutes away.

* * *

><p><strong>In the next chapter: <strong>Forever?


	10. Forever?

**Author's note: **_This is the last chapter. Thank you for reading and for all your amazing comments – I hope you enjoyed this story at least half as much as I loved writing it. This chapter should include a link to the song Blaine plays – it's beautiful and worth listening to – but FF doesn't allow foreign links. So you can either find this chapter with the link on either my livejournal or scarves&coffee (my penname is always the same), or remove all the spaces from the link below and add the second / after http: _

_http : / view . aimini . com / ?fid=sOk539hlQ7BZqerZIh9h_

* * *

><p><strong>10. FOREVER?<strong>

Kurt is tired, hungry and annoyed. In spite of what he's been telling himself, the memories of last night – feelings, touches, thoughts – are hanging like a heavy cloud over his head. And it hurts, weighing him down.

Today has been terrible; the photoshoots were long and exhausting, he had no time for lunch in between and he'd gotten a speeding ticket trying not to be late for the second one. His head hurts, his body is tense and all he feels like doing is falling face first on a bed and sleeping for a week; not feeling, not thinking, not remembering. Maybe he'll do just that. But first, dinner. He groans; as hungry as he is, he has no energy left to even think about cooking. He – or they, if Blaine joins him – will have to order takeout again.

Oh god, _Blaine_. Kurt wonders how much he remembers from last night. He was pretty out of it, so probably not much. And if he doesn't, Kurt isn't going to remind him that they almost slipped in their _no sex_ rule again.

Kurt's apartment is warm and brightly lit when he enters, and it smells of food. _Good_ food. Blaine gets up from the couch as soon as the door open. His eyes are too bright, eyelashes wet, and Kurt knows immediately he's been crying. His heart squeezes – Blaine already regrets breaking up with David, doesn't he? He's come to his senses and realized he loved him after all?

Blaine comes up to hug Kurt, whose stomach chooses this moment to rumble loudly. His friend laughs.

"Come on, everything's ready. They didn't feed you again?"

"Yeah, no time for silly stuff like that." Kurt rolls his eyes with a smirk.

He doesn't know how it works, but Blaine's presence alone is always enough to improve his mood, no matter how bad it is. He can't help but smile now. The smile widens into a grin when he enters the kitchen. They always eat here, but now the table is set with an actual tablecloth, there are flowers and candles set tastefully among the plates and serving dishes. The glasses are already filled with wine. Kurt stops in the doorway, surprised.

"What's the occasion?"

"I just felt like celebrating… something. I had a day off anyway, so… here it is. We can celebrate our friendship if you need a reason to eat a fancy dinner with me."

Laughter bubbles up in Kurt's throat. He feels much better all of a sudden.

* * *

><p>Delicious food, excellent wine and talking with his best friend work wonders and by the time they finish stacking dishes in the sink, Kurt feels relaxed and rejuvenated. Blaine looks at him from the other side of the kitchen, some undecipherable emotion stealing into his eyes. He blinks it away quickly, as if it was never there, and he grabs Kurt's hand and leads him to the living room.<p>

"Come on, I want to play something for you."

Judging from the dinner conversation, Blaine doesn't seem to remember much from the night before, except for the fact that Kurt had picked him up from the bar. He's different today, though, subdued, sad, yet somehow… glowing? It seems strange right after a breakup, but oh well, he's never been one to judge.

Kurt settles on the couch, a refilled glass of wine in his hand. He doesn't notice the candles until Blaine flicks the overhead lamp off. There must be a dozen of them, tiny tealights set all around the room, bathing it in a warm, yellow glow. Kurt's heart accelerates as he looks around, the well-known setting suddenly intimate somehow, almost romantic. But why would it…

Blaine is already seated by the keyboard he must have brought from his apartment, his fingers dancing on the keys, sweet soft notes filling the room. When he starts singing, he looks right into Kurt's eyes and the world disappears, there's nothing but those honey-warm eyes and this voice, words flying right to Kurt's heart.

_And by the way you brought me here it makes me believe_

_the best is still yet to come and I don't want to leave._

_Forgive my hesitation - oh, but I'm learning to trust in you._

_Help me to dream these dreams cause I don't have a clue._

_And if you'd be honest and say what you mean,_

_you know I would promise, I'd do anything_

_cause I know that without you, I'm giving it away._

Kurt can't breathe. Does this mean what he thinks it means? Or is it just his imagination interpreting a beautiful song the way he wants to hear it? Blaine's eyes are still focused on him, earnest and open, as he sings on.

_Is this what you've wanted? Cause I'm willing to change_

_now that I am certain that there's much more to gain._

_You've introduced me to the moment, oh, but I'm looking to stay for good._

_You've asked me to stay forever, well, you know that I would,_

_I would do anything._

Kurt gasps. Blaine knows. He remembers last night, and not only that, but he _heard_ Kurt. How else would he know about _forever_? So he knows and this, _this _is his reaction? The words pulse on, mesmerizing.

_The nights are forever, and maybe I'm wrong,_

_but it feels like I'm so lost without you._

_So I step towards the heat, it's the way I can see,_

_and it makes me believe_

_that it's you._

Blaine's nod is barely perceptible, holding the last long note, and it's clear, it couldn't be more clear what he means, but Kurt still has trouble believing, understanding what's happening. He's dreaming, he's sure he must be dreaming, because even in his wildest fantasies he's never imagined a scene so romantic, a confession so beautiful that his breath hitches in his throat and his vision blurs with tears. It can't be real, can it?

The song flows on before the last notes melt into silence, and Kurt doesn't move from his seat, hardly dares to breathe, afraid that the slightest touch will destroy the dream image, blow it away without a trace. But Blaine is getting up now, coming closer, so close, and taking the wine glass from his numb fingers, and when he kneels on the floor and his hand brushes Kurt's, it's warm, solid and familiar. Blaine reaches up then, to Kurt's hot, wet cheek, hesitant and quiet.

"Kurt? Say something, please."

And he can't. There's too much to say and yet so little, and he wants to believe, so _so_ much, but there are the last threads of reason keeping him still, warning against gambling everything on this one chance. Questions in his eyes, he just looks at the man he loves, and Blaine understands because he _knows_ him so well.

"Kurt… it's _always_ been you."

The threads snap and Kurt is falling, blindly, without a parachute, hoping with everything he has he'll be caught as he lowers his lips to Blaine's.

* * *

><p>Blaine's heart stops for a second when he sees Kurt's tears. All evening, the presence of the other man has affected him ten times more than ever before – every gesture, every move, every single smile seemed as if he was seeing them for the first time. He can't stop staring; longing. The desire to touch and hold and say those words is so hard to fight. And then he's singing and Kurt freezes, eyes wide, and there are <em>tears<em> there. Blaine wants to stop and run, because he must be doing it all wrong if Kurt is reacting like this. But he manages to finish the song and he's kneeling by the couch, because his legs don't seem to be able to support him any longer. Once he's close though, what he sees in Kurt's stormy eyes is not rejection; it's fear, yes, but also hope and disbelief, so Blaine says the only thing he can.

"It's always been you."

And it must be the right thing to say, because the next thing he knows, Kurt's lips are on his, soft and wet with tears, and Blaine dives into the kiss that he first saw in his dreams that first night in his college dorm room, over seven years ago. He's kissed many times since then, of course – trained, mechanical kisses with girls, and in the last months finally proper kisses with men, kisses that spelled _want_ and _passion_ and _desire_. But this kiss is so much more than that, it speaks of more than technique and physical attraction. It's like an offering, an unspoken confession, and the fact that Kurt is the one initiating it right now means everything. It feels like a new beginning, like _I trust you_ and _Don't hurt me_. Kurt's fingers tangle in Blaine's hair, pulling him closer – not to communicate _I want you, take me now_, but _I want to be close to you, hold me, be with me, don't let go_. Blaine has no idea how he knows all this. He just does. It's like telepathy. And it's amazing. They pull away from each other after a while and Kurt's eyes are sparkling, his cheeks flushed pink. He's gorgeous.

They sit on the couch long into the night, cuddling, talking and kissing. Kurt wants to know why now, what's changed; so Blaine tells him about those first months of college, about his fights with himself, his self-imposed ban on thinking about Kurt as anything other than just a friend. In return, he gets the admission that for Kurt this started right about then, too. _Someone broke my heart some time ago; my first love actually_ – the words hang between them, unspoken. They don't talk about it, not yet. They don't name their feelings; it's too soon. They need time to find their place together, to settle into this relationship and learn each other in this new context.

They both agree to do it properly, gradually, and set some ground rules, most of which come down to one thing: no sex yet. Definitely not full-on _sex-_sex until a month into the relationship. They want to take things slow, go from kisses to touches to fooling around and then on – to experience it all with each other. This night they kiss in Kurt's bed until they fall asleep. The next morning they are almost late for their Saturday class in the group home, because they can't stop making out long enough to do anything effectively. Like, maybe get dressed and prepared for the weekend.

Daisy takes one look at them and chuckles. "I _knew_ you'd get together eventually."

And bold little Romeo, who was adopted a month ago and came with his new father to say proper goodbye, hugs them and whispers in Kurt's ear "I think Mister Blaine wants to be your boyfriend now, Mister Kurt. Because he makes funny eyes, you know?" and Kurt can't help but giggle.

They go to Lima afterwards, since Sunday is Finn's wedding day. When they enter the house, holding hands – and Blaine _loves_ how good it makes him feel, this soft warm hand steady in his – they sort of expect surprise. Shock even.

What they actually get? Just smiles all around and Burt's cheerful "Well _finally_. Took you two long enough. Good timing, you can sleep in Kurt's old bedroom together and we'll have the couch free in case someone wants to stay the night." And that's the last they hear on the topic.

Blaine gets introduced to everyone as Kurt's boyfriend and treated like family, not a guest. It means he's busy helping with preparations, which he does happily. It also means he cries in Kurt's arms for hours late that night, finally grieving the loss of his own family. He still can't understand how his parents could have cut him out of their lives so easily, when he's practically been adopted without hesitation by people who are in no way connected to him by blood, history or family obligation. He comes to realize that he may never understand or accept it. But now, in spite of it all, he feels like he has family again. For the first time in years, he feels really cared for and accepted without reservations.

Late Sunday night, they are driving back to Columbus in comfortable silence, tired from all the talking they've been doing all day. Blaine closes his eyes and in a flash he can see the future unwinding before them. The first _I love you_, easy and certain after all this time. Living together, waking up every day to Kurt's warm presence a heartbeat away. Somewhere down the road, a proposal, something spontaneous and far from formal, and very _them_. A wedding, undoubtedly perfectly planned - well, just _perfect_ in general, because it's _Kurt_, it's _them_. Marriage and children, everyday life and family vacations, Christmases and visits in Lima. Dreams, laughter, tears. _Life_, together.

Happiness filling him completely, Blaine opens his eyes to look at Kurt's beautiful profile and smiles with tenderness. His voice quivers a little when he speaks.

"Thank you. For waiting for me. For helping me discover who I am. For everything."

* * *

><p>Gradual intimacy turns out to be fine and dandy – in theory. They want to actually try dating, but they soon realize it is hardly different from what they've been doing all along, only now they're allowed to kiss and touch, stare at each other openly and hold hands. And since the only thing that is new is the physical side of their relationship, well… they make sure they get a lot of practice. Really, a <em>lot<em>. And it's not easy to stop when you're a young, sexually active male who finally has the person of his dreams in his arms. And his bed. Because sleeping separately is _so_ overrated.

Kurt breaks first, or maybe he's just the first one to say it aloud. Just three days after they get together, late at night, with his tongue mapping the exact topography of Blaine's chest and his hand sneaking under the cotton of his pants, he groans, "Blaine, I know we said at least a month, but I really think it's too much. I'd say… three weeks maybe?". And Blaine can only moan his agreement when his boyfriend's fingers ghost over his cock after months of missing his touch, months that feel like lifetime.

A week in, Blaine looks up from where he's kneeling on the floor, still only half-dressed before going to work, and pauses in licking the last drops of come off from Kurt's stomach - they're both safe, they made sure about it – to murmur "Are you sure two weeks wouldn't be enough?"

Finally, they manage to last ten days.

* * *

><p>They go to the club that evening. Neither of them drinks much this time and they spend most of the night dancing together, letting the music lace their blood with sweet madness of rhythm and vibrations, getting closer, so close they feel like they're almost grinding right there on the dance floor, turned on and lost in each other.<p>

Around eleven, Kurt disappears for a moment to go to the restroom and Blaine finds himself being hit on by some guy. Obviously, he's not interested, but the man is hard to discourage and he's still rolling his hips seductively, dancing in front of him when Blaine glances to the right to see Kurt rooted to the floor motionless, his eyes wide and pupils blown, something scary flashing over his face. In the next instant Kurt straightens up and it's like a complete transformation right before Blaine's eyes; one blink and there's no sign of the flushed, playful, smiling man left. Instead, there's model-Kurt, breathtakingly beautiful and _cold_, so cold as he struts across the dance floor like he owns it, every move calculated and cat-like, eyes like steel. By the time he's ten feet away from them, the man who was flirting with Blaine is staring at Kurt with his mouth open. He's not the only one. Kurt is a force of nature when he's like this. As soon as he reaches Blaine's side, Kurt smiles and traces his fingers down his boyfriend's chest before looking at the stranger, his best bitch face on and his voice rough.

"Keep the fuck away from my man."

The guy just turns away, disappearing into the crowd as fast as he can, and Blaine's legs feel like jelly. He's heard Kurt swear occasionally, he's seen him in model mode, but this scene, the clear possessiveness and the territoriality of it is hotter than anything he's ever seen. God, he's got the sexiest boyfriend ever. Honestly, instead of dancing, he just wants to find a private place and ravish Kurt, two weeks be damned. But he doesn't and for the rest of the evening they never separate, Kurt clearly claiming his territory, touching, kissing, making sure no one doubts for a second that Blaine is _his_.

Hours later, in his apartment, Blaine wakes up from the best erotic dream he's ever had to find Kurt sucking him off hungrily in the pale light of dawn. Just looking at Kurt like this, naked and lithe, his hair a mess, mouth stretched over Blaine's cock, is almost too much. Blaine's hips stutter, bucking up into the tight heat, but Kurt pulls up, releasing his cock and Blaine groans. There's something wild in Kurt's eyes this morning, some glint of madness as he reaches towards the bedside drawer. His voice is low and rough and Blaine's heart races at the raw desire he can hear there.

"Blaine, if you don't want to, just tell me, but if you do, I can't. Wait. A second. Longer. You're so fucking gorgeous I can't think, I can't sleep because I want you so much." The speed with which Blaine opens his legs for him is answer enough, and almost immediately Kurt's finger slides in, teasing, quickly followed by a second one. Kurt keeps talking, frantic and breathless. "I want to take you, make you mine, truly, fully _mine_. I want to stretch you open, fill you and make love to you, slow and long, until you beg me to let you come. I want to make it so good for you; so good you'll never, ever even think about wanting anyone else."

Kurt's fingers are magic by themselves, but the way he talks – the words, the tone, the low, primal sound of his voice – it makes Blaine's blood boil with pure, animalistic lust and he's moaning with abandon, unable to control his reactions in any way. His brain submits to the possessiveness in Kurt's voice and Blaine gives up, opens himself to be taken and owned and loved. Because that's what it is now. He just lies, naked and vulnerable, feeling Kurt's love flow through him. He can feel it in the way Kurt works him open, constantly kissing, licking, sucking hungrily on the skin of Blaine's thighs, his hips, his stomach.

"God, you're so tight, so hot and so fucking mine." Kurt sucks at his nipple now, his fingers moving at a languid pace, slowly driving Blaine crazy. "I was the first one who saw you like this, who got to take you and love you and see you come undone, and it was the most beautiful thing in my life. It was a gift no one else gets to have from you, ever, and you have no idea how special that makes me feel. Even when I was sure we'd never be together, this was something, in this one small way, that made you mine, forever."

Blaine keens, reaching to pull his lover closer, and Kurt sucks at his neck hard, with a hint of teeth. There's bound to be a mark tomorrow and the thought makes Blaine whimper. A smile is spreading across Kurt's face.

"You like this, do you? You like me marking you, showing everyone that you're owned, that you're _mine_?"

Blaine manages to choke out a ragged _yes_ and then there are only Kurt's lips and teeth, sucking on the verge of painful, leaving marks of his love where everyone will see. His fingers slide in and out, fast, faster, just right, until Blaine begs for it.

"Please, Kurt, _please, now._"

And Kurt understands – of course he understands, it's like their minds are somehow connected most of the time, now more than ever, and he slides his fingers out of Blaine, leaves him empty and aching. Seconds later he's back though, a condom on, raising Blaine's knees up, positioning himself and pushing in, slowly and surely.

The second he's fully in, he stills, they both do, just breathing raggedly and looking into each other's eyes in the early morning sun, blue-grey on amber; frantic movements and desperate need gone. They're here, they're one, together, closer than ever before, because now it's not just physical, it's love and care and tenderness, all tangled into unbreakable, intricate knot with need and desire.

Kurt leans forward and when their lips touch, it's like closing a circuit, their bodies connecting completely as their mouths imitate what their hips are doing; rocking slowly, tongues sliding in and out, loving each other so completely they hardly know where one ends and the other begins. It feels like hours filled with kisses and delicious pressure and roaming hands, sounds of passion and words of awe and delight whispered frantically into each other's mouth, against the slick, sweaty skin.

They fight to keep their eyes open even as they reach the edge, taking in all the beauty of the moment. Whispers turn into moans, keens, and the final shuddering _Mine_ as Kurt trembles and comes. Blaine follows right behind, stunned into silence, just two words falling into the sun filled, heavy air.

_Yours. Forever._

THE END

* * *

><p><strong>End notes:<strong> _That's it. No, there'll be no sequel to this story, in case you wondered ;)_

_On a side note: if you read and liked my _Breathe_ 'verse, come back on Friday – the first chapter of the threequel, _Leave Me Breathless_, will be up._


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